


Trust

by hobbitsdoitbetter



Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:31:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 56,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitsdoitbetter/pseuds/hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers has always been an all-American kinda guy. Straight as an arrow. The First Avenger. That man every father wants his daughter bringing home. But when an encounter with current Black Widow Yelena Belova brings out some unexpected... kinks in his psyche, who will Steve turn to? Can Darcy Lewis help him navigate a brave new world of handcuffs, rope-burns and being a perverted romantic?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One: Honest

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER ONE: HONEST**

_You know, sometimes I think you **like** getting punched_.

Bucky’s words have been going around and around in Steve’s head for a week now.

  
Ever since he came back from Siberia. Ever since he and Natasha made their report to Fury about what remained of the Red Room Academy and its ties to the Winter Soldier Programme. Ever since Yelena Belova tied him to a chair and decided to torture whatever information she could out of him before Romanova rescued his butt. Steve tries to keep the voice away, tries to tell himself that what happened doesn’t matter. Tries even to pretend that what Belova did to him- and his response to it- was an understandable reaction to the interrogation and nothing more.

  
But he can’t do it.

  
It isn’t in him to lie like that, most especially to himself.

  
 _Steve knows he’s not nearly the paragon he’s been portrayed as but if there is one thing he’s not, it’s dishonest_.

  
And pretending he doesn’t know instinctively that what happened between him and Belova was wrong would be dishonesty of the highest order. It’s a lie he can’t even begin to make himself tell, though he thinks he maybe should. Because when he felt Belova pull the ropes tighter, when he felt that dizzy, roiling mix of pain and helplessness and, and… pleasure… as she straddled him and demanded answers, he’d known there was nothing right or proper about his reaction. The arousal he’d felt hadn’t been natural. It had been wrong. Distasteful. _Freakish_. So far from who he thought he was that he wasn’t sure he could stomach acknowledging it. And it had made him feel complicit somehow in the horrible things Belova put him and Natasha through, the things she made his team-mate watch just for the fun of it.

  
“You want this,” Belova kept saying to him, and she kept grinning at Natasha as she did it. “You want this so much it shames you, doesn’t it, mwoi meel?”

  
And then she’d pull the ropes tighter still, tight enough to stop his pulse, tight enough to choke another man-

  
Steve had hates that some part of him knows she was right, hates it in a way he’s never hated anything before.

  
 _Because how can I be trusted to be everything I’m supposed to be_ , he wonders, _to be leader of the Avengers, when I have this secret- this vice- constantly rattling around in my brain?_

  
So he keeps himself quiet, and he punches as many bags as he can lay his hands on. Gets Barton to train with him in hand to hand and Hill to train him in everything else. Gives advice to Thor about human women and support to Fury when he needs a member of the team to back his play. He even allows Tony and Pepper- so much a single unit these days that there’s little point in mentioning them separately- to bring him out on the town, try to get him set up with someone (or under someone, in one of Stark’s frequent, inappropriate asides). The only person he avoids Natasha, because she saw what happened. _She knows the truth, and he’s reminded of it every time she meets his eyes_. But none of it works. It can’t do. He knows it can’t. Steve knows he’s- He’s not the kind of man a woman would want, not anymore.

  
And so he keeps his silence- and his distance from Natasha. Tries to make peace with knowing that what he wants makes him… unsuitable. Unnatural. Weak. The figure of a man instead of the substance of one. Because no matter what he tries he can’t seem to outrun this-

And he fears deep down that he never will.


	2. Chapter Two: Punchline

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER TWO: PUNCHLINE**

Natasha gives him the number, the first time.

Steve’s not certain how she knows what’s going on with him, and he’s not sure he wants to. Just like he’s not sure he wants to think about whether she and Clint have discussed the matter when he’s not around. But whether they have or not- _whether anyone else has guessed or not_ \- he looks up one morning to find a small, perfectly rectangular, ivory business card at his elbow. The ink heavy, elegant, raised beneath his fingertips. The edges delicately turned, the type-face almost preternaturally crisp and clean. He reads a name- _Esme_ \- and a cell-phone number, both typed inconspicuously in the corner of the card, and he looks at Natasha, eyebrows half raised in question.

  
“You should call her,” Romanova says quietly, not looking at him. “She’s… She’s someone you should talk to.” An almost inaudible exhalation of breath. “She helped me a lot, when I needed it. She can help you.”

  
And with that she walks away.

  
Clint gets up and follows her, but Steve stays where he is. Blinks, surprised, turning the card between his fingertips. Wondering what the blazes this is supposed to mean. There’s nothing on it except the name and the number, no clue who this Esme person is, or how she can help him. He’s not entirely sure why Tasha’s given it to him- though he has his suspicions- but he’s surprised to find that he’s grateful for the gesture all the same.

  
_After all, there’s only one type of professional woman who has a business card and only a first name._

  
He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised though: He suspected that seeing his reaction to Belova disappointed Tasha, though he’s too familiar with her cynicism to think that he shocked her all that much. But still, how could she not be disappointed in him? _**He’s** disappointed in him._ He’s her team-mate, her back-up, and he became aroused by being tied up and hurt. Humiliated. It sounds like the punch-line to a dirty joke. The upstanding Captain America laid low by a lust for… For what? _He’s not even sure there’s a name for what happened to him._ Steve’s seen some terrible things in war, things the other Avengers want to believe he’s never even contemplated. He knows what the Nazis did in the field, he knows what happens to the women of any territory when an army over-runs them. He knows. He’d sooner give up a limb than tie violence and intimacy together, and as far as he’s concerned sex is an intimacy and what he wants is a violence-

  
And yet Natasha gave him the number and told him this Esme person could help him.

  
Short of pretending nothing happened in Siberia- _which isn’t an option_ \- Steve doesn’t see any other choice than to give this a try.

  
And so he waits until he has an entire weekend off- Friday evening included- and makes the phone call. Arranges a meet at a one of those fancy coffee shop in Manhattan where he’s fairly certain the staff are paid to be situationally deaf. The woman- Esme- sounds calm and cool as he rattles off his requirements, aware that he sounds more like a commanding officer than a prospective lunch-date. His manners seem to have abandoned him but he’s nervous, damn it, and he can’t seem to help himself. He can hear the smile in her voice as she tells him she’ll see him there though: It feels like a balm settling in on his conscience and despite himself he grins. The thought that this woman can help him somehow setting him at ease. It doesn’t occur to him to wonder what Esme did for Romanova, he won’t let himself think about what the Widow believes Esme can do for _him_ \-   
  
Because if he’d let himself think of that he might never have made the call at all.

And then where would he be?


	3. Chapter Three: Esme

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER THREE: ESME**

She doesn’t look like he expects her to look.

Steve’s not sure what he expected, but it’s definitely not this. Petite build, dark hair, immaculately turned-out sweater set. Diamond studs at her ears- _real, by the looks of things_ \- the only indication that she’s the sort of glamorous woman Natasha might think could help him in his plight. It’s not like Steve expected her to turn up in a corset and thigh high boots; He might not be as worldly as Tony ( _Is **anyone** as worldly as Tony?_ ) but he’s seen enough of life to know that shady ladies come in all shapes and sizes. Still though, she takes him by surprise, this Esme. Even as she gives his hand a firm shake and orders herself a still mineral water. Her mouth curling up a tiny bit at the corner as she looks him over from head to toe, her feet crossed demurely at the ankles, her smile almost cat-like.

“You’re not what I expected, Mr. Rogers,” she says without preamble. Her voice holds a trace of the British accent he barely noticed on the phone. She leans in confidentially and the cat-like grin gets wider. “Thank the lord for small mercies.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up so suddenly at her words that he feels he has to smile.

She leans back, clearly having gotten the reaction wanted, and flags a server down.

And that’s it, the ice is broken. Her being up-front setting Steve at his ease as nothing else would have done. He mentioned Natasha when he made this appointment and Esme asks about the other woman now. Allows him to give some non-specific answer and tells him to pass her best wishes along as she takes the first sip of her drink. She orders a light salad and another water, makes no comment when he asks for a burger with extra mustard. Their server looks horrified at Steve’s choice but he’s too nervous to really care. He and Esme make small-talk over lunch; Her inquiries into his background- _he admits to being from Brooklyn and being in the service, that’s it_ \- make way to conversation about politics, sport, film. His inquiries into her background yield evidence of a fine arts degree- “It was this business,” she tells him, “Or becoming a forger”- a fact which unaccountably pleases him. It’s polite, it’s good, and it doesn’t faze him. In fact, he enjoys it so much that he almost let’s himself forget why they’re here. _If this is the way to help him, he thinks, then he’ll take it-_

And then Esme leans over to him as the server clears the table and asks him, with that same cat-like smile as earlier, “So, Steve, do you want me to tie you up tonight?”

_And suddenly this isn’t good or pleasing or right at all._

She must read the horrified look on his face because she moves back slightly though she doesn’t look away from him. She doesn’t pretend she’s misspoken either, she just looks at him very steadily and repeats her question, more softly the second time. Her hand grazes the sleeve of his shirt as she does so and the touch seems so incongruous it might as well burn him. He shakes his head- Where the Hell has his voice gone?- and she nods once in answer, then gestures for him to sit down again. It’s only at this point that he realises he’s gotten to his feet and he drops back into his chair, expression sheepish, feeling like an moron. An ignorant, innocent, incompetent moron.

Silence reigns for a very long time before he can get control of his nerves.

When he finally looks like he has Esme gives him another, quieter smile.

“I take it that you’re not ready for that?” she says, her voice more gentle, her tone conciliatory.

If she’s surprised or embarrassed by his reaction then she’s doing an excellent job of not showing it.

Steve nods again, jerkily, and her smile softens. This time it’s anything but cat-like. “Forgive me,” she says when it becomes obvious he isn’t going to speak. “That wasn’t the gentlest way to broach the subject. And gentle is what I normally do, at least at this stage. But in my line of work- Well, you learn to read people. And what I was reading from you is that you haven’t made your peace with this. With what you want. With the lifestyle.”

Steve purses his lips at that, blows out an angry little puff of air. He’s buying himself time to answer and he knows it. He just isn’t sure what else to do.

_It seems such a small phrase- the lifestyle- to encompass everything he knows he’s going to have to abandon about who he thinks he is._

“So, is there…Is there a word for a man who enjoys.. The lifestyle? What you do?” he asks her eventually. When the silence has stretched out to a truly uncomfortable degree. It might be the hardest question he’s ever asked out loud but in for a penny, in for a pound.

And if he were going to get up and leave he’d have done it by now.

“Is there a word for a man who enjoys being dominated in bed?” she says, apparently unsurprised by question. “Yes, there’s a few different words for him. After all, I wouldn’t have a career if there wasn’t.” The look she shoots him is matter-of-fact. “Sub is the most common. It’s the one I use.”

He blinks. “Sub? Like the sandwich?”

And then feels like an absolute idiot because somehow he doubts that’s where the phrase comes from.

Her grin is amused though and it somehow calms him. He’s not really sure how he’s staying so unruffled but maybe he’s been around Banner too long. “Sub is short for submissive,” she explains. Again that calm, matter-of-fact tone. “That’s what we’d normally call a person who prefers not to lead in the bedroom, in this case you. And your partner, the person you’re looking for, may call themselves a dom.

“Short for dominant?” he guesses, and he feels absurdly pleased that he was right when she nods. “Sub, dom,” he murmurs softly. The words sound… They’re just words. They don’t have to have genders attached, do they? Any moral qualifications? And God hasn’t struck him dead for saying them aloud.

_At least, not yet._

“Yes, sub and dom are the common words,” she continues. “Though there are plenty of others if you’re in the mood for variety.” And she grins. “But if you’ll forgive me for being so bold, I suspect that you need advice rather than training. If you were looking for someone to experiment with sexually I don’t think you’d have reacted as you did just now.”

Steve rakes his hand through his hair. “You got that right.”

“So how about you ask me questions, and I answer them?” Her voice is light, conversational, but something tells Steve she knows that for him the subject is anything but.

He shoots her a sideways look. “All right,” he says. “I’m game.” A shot of worry goes through him. “You- You wouldn’t mind if I were explicit, would you?”

_For some reason he can’t fathom being mannerly suddenly seems vitally important right now._

This time her smile is brilliant. “Darling, I live for explicit,” she tells him. “The filthier the better, I always say.”

He flinches. “I don’t- It’s not about… being dirty,” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth, one after the other. _Lord, leading a team through occupied France was easier than this_. “I- I enjoy being… I mean, what seemed to work in Russia was- Was being- well, restrained. Held down. Is that…” He looks at her, at a loss. “Is that… normal?”

“Normal is such an unhelpful word.” Esme’s so calm he almost feels weird for being embarrassed. _Almost_. “I mean, it’s different for everyone,” she says. “For some people pain brings pleasure. For some, humiliation. That’s not what I specialise in, though I have colleagues who’d suit for you if that was what you needed. But it’s not.” And she shrugs, takes a delicate sip of her water. They might be talking about the weather for all the nonchalance she displays. “You’re a very big man Steve,” she says eventually. “Very strong. And I have no doubt, very, very good.” Her tone makes the word tingle with innuendo. “But at this point in your life you may need someone to restrain you in order to feel sexual pleasure, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s part of who you are. It’s part of what makes you _you_.”

“So I’m a perv?”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them and inwardly he kicks himself. _He doesn’t want to insult this woman, or what she does._

Esme isn’t bothered though. “We’re all pervs, darling,” she tells him, head leaned towards him mock-confidingly. “You and I just have a head start on the others: We know we are.”

Despite himself he grins a little. “So I’m a perv. Great. Tony’s going to have a field day.”

“Is Tony your partner?”

That one he’s not shocked at; It’s not the first time he’s been asked. “No, Tony’s a guy I work with.” He feels the tips of his ears go pink. “I like- I like the girls- uh, I mean women-ladies-”

“Any and all of the above.” He nods, relieved; For a second he thought he might have offended her- _And then it occurs to him how spectacularly unlikely **that** is_.

Esme purses her lips thoughtfully though. “And is there a girl-woman-lady on the cards right now?” she asks him coyly.

Steve has to shake his head. Immediately Peggy flashes through his mind as always a stab of pain follows in her wake. “There was someone,” he says softly. “She died.”

Esme’s hand covers his for a second. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She’s the first person to say it aloud and Steve finds it strangely comforting. Maybe it’s the accent; it minds him a tiny bit of the woman he lost yesterday- And decades ago. _He has the strangest feeling that he could have talked to Peggy about this_. “And is there anyone else besides this person?” Esme asks.

He shrugs. “There might be. Possibly.” He’s aware that Fury would like nothing better than that he take Agent Hill up on her offers of the last couple of months. She’s looking at being assigned to be his handler and she is, in many ways, perfect for the job. But Steve can’t imagine doing anything even vaguely romantic with Maria, let alone asking her to restrain him. _He somehow doesn’t think she’d take well to any sign of weakness in her mate_. And he’s smart enough to know that if the attraction isn’t there he’s not going to be able to force it.

_Even if having a normal, beautiful girlfriend right now seems like a really attractive alternative to being a perv who likes to get tied up._

Esme can apparently read his ambivalence on his face. “Well then my advice is, wait for there to be someone,” she says. “Not possibly. Definitely.” Her expression is understanding. Calculating, but understanding all the same. “Wait until there is someone who you’re sure you’re interested in having as a girl-woman-lady, and then come back to me.”

A shot of panic goes through Steve. “But that would mean I’d have to- Have to-”

“Yes, you would.” Esme nods her head with imperial certainty. The Queen of England couldn’t be more convinced of her own rectitude. “And it would do you both the world of good, starting from the ground up. Learning the ropes- literally- with someone who cares about your pleasure in the act. A McDungeon and a professional wouldn’t suit you-” She shoots Steve a sidelong look, her grin impish.

“I fear you’re far too romantic a soul for that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Great, so now I’m a perv and a romantic. My reputation just keeps getting better and better these days.”

Esme pats his hand in amusement. “Don’t be silly dear. You’re a perverted romantic: Everyone knows they make the best pets.” And she signals to the server to bring the bill. Leans over and actually winks at him. For the first time since she got here Steve feels himself relax. “Besides,” she says, “in my experience birds of a feather flock together. You’ll know the right bird, when she flits over. And she won’t take much persuading, if you hand her a little bit of rope.”

And with that she drops a fifty- _wasn’t he supposed to pay?_ \- and holds her arm out for him. Allowing him to escort her from the premises. Allowing him to ask her more questions and regaling him with tales of her debauched derring-do. They spend most of the afternoon together, talking and laughing. Steve slowly letting himself get used to the concept of letting himself get tied up. But it’s only three days later, when Steve welcomes Jane Foster’s team to the Avengers Tower and he lays eyes on Darcy Lewis, that he begins being able to visualise what said tying up might look like-

And once that starts, he can’t seem to stop it.

He can’t be entirely certain, but he can swear he hears Esme laughing in his head.


	4. Chapter Four: Knockout

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

 **CHAPTER FOUR: KNOCK-OUT**  
  
It starts out innocently enough.

Steve’s imagining asking Darcy for a coffee (having chatted to both Pepper and Natasha and been assured that this is the usual first step in asking for a date). In his head he’s a little smoother than he suspects he’s going to be in real life, and in his head Darcy’s a lot more demure than their current interactions would suggest she’s capable of being. But it’s positive visualisation, something helpful he used to do when he had to plan a battle-

Which makes him feel a little more confident, because if he can do something in his imagination then he can usually do it in real life.

_And, in all honesty, visualising Darcy Lewis is something he kind of enjoys._

But though these little daydreams start off innocent, they very rarely stay that way. Somewhere between them getting in a cab to go to the coffee shop and making their way inside its doors, things always seem to get a bit, well… derailed. Perverted. Hot and naked and sweaty in a way Steve’s never experienced in real life. Because somehow they always end up somewhere dark and dangerous and entirely private, somewhere that causes whatever gentlemanly tendencies Steve’s mom managed to beat into him to take a running jump. There’s always a wall, or a bathroom stall, or an alleyway, and there’s always an invitation from Darcy to put it to use. It’s mortifying-excruciating- the things his imagination comes up with once they’re together. And yet it always gets him off- Always.

_She makes him come so hard. Every. Damn. Time._

Because in his daydreams Darcy turns from the mouthy, funny girl he knows in the office into a siren with a controlling streak in the blink of an eye. A woman who tells him what he wants from her and gives it- Gives it with chords and cuffs and, in one particularly eventful daydream, the belt off his Captain America uniform. And Steve likes it- Oh Lord, how he likes it. Likes the way the dream-Darcy forces him backwards, onto his knees or his back or his haunches. Likes the way the dream-Darcy pulls a length of rope slowly, teasingly out of her purse and binds his wrists so tight it actually hurts. Intellectually Steve knows that it’s a fantasy: No civilian-made rope would hold him for long and even if it could he honestly doubts the lovely Ms. Lewis would be this damn forward after just being asked for coffee-

But it’s a daydream, and those are harmless.

At least that’s what Steve tells himself.

_And besides, judging by his current efforts, daydreams may be all he’ll ever have of her._

Because as he finds out within days of meeting her, there are two massive obstacles in the way of his asking Darcy Lewis out. One is her obvious lack of attraction to him: Apparently she likes her men slimly-built and geeky, an irony which isn’t lost on Steve. In fact, it’s actually kind of funny that he’s finally found a gorgeous dame who would probably have liked him better when he was still plain old Steven Grant Rogers and not The Star Spangled Man With The Plan. _But it still sucks_. And the other obstacle is the fact that she appears to have a boyfriend, a jackass (Steve’s not joking, the guy’s a moron) with whom she has one of those on again/off again relationships Bucky used to specialise in. One of those relationships he’s seen a lot of nice girls get into and remain resolutely unwilling to leave even though their boyfriend is, demonstrably, a pig. A pig named Brett, who takes her money and, from what Steve can see, cheats on her every chance he gets. Rogers doesn’t understand it: How could someone so wonderful saddle themselves with someone so wrong? But the sad truth is that though Ms. Lewis might be on the S.H.I.E.L.D fast-track, and though she’s making great strides in becoming an agent, apparently her taste in men is what Tasha calls _“nye normalnye,”_ or crazy-

And not in the way which might actually help Steve get somewhere with his romantically perverted crush.

_No, this is more in the way that results in Thor threatening to take her boyfriend to Asgard and show him the business end of Mjolnir._

Which leaves him in a bit of a quandary about Darcy. On the one hand, it’s not really any of his business. And he’s seen enough girls go gaga over Bucky to know that pointing out the error of their ways really won’t help. But on the other hand, it’s been so long since he’s been interested in anyone, and Darcy is worthy of so much more than she’s getting, and the daydreams are getting more and more lucid every day, that he can’t help but start hoping that something underhanded will happen to Brett The Boyfriend. Something to get the idiot out of her life and bothering someone else Steve doesn’t know. But despite the fact that he suspects both Clint and Tasha would help him if he wanted to organise the guy’s disappearance he keeps his own counsel-

And then one day, as he’s leaving the Avengers Tower at the end of the day he sees the guy screaming at Darcy and in that moment Steve decides that Brett has got to go.

It’s not that he thinks Darcy can’t handle herself: Thor has often laughingly regaled the Avengers with the story of their first encounter, and her willingness to wield a tazer when feeling threatened. It’s not that he thinks he has some sort of property rights- they’ve barely done more than exchange pleasantries, and even that made Steve nervous as Hell. It’s just that when he sees Brett shaking Darcy by her elbow and yelling at her, trying to yank his cell-phone out of her hand and calling her a “crazy bitch,” something in Steve just… snaps.

Sharply.

Before he even really knows what he’s doing he’s crossing the street to them, and it’s just as well he doesn’t carry a firearm because he’s not sure what he’d do with one right now if he did.

But he’s icily polite when he reaches them. The last thing he wants is to start yelling and making a spectacle of himself like Brett is- Because Darcy doesn’t need that. Instead he walks straight up to Brett and takes the phone he’s holding away from Darcy out of his hand. Passing it to her with a quick nod and the closest approximation he can come to a smile, his stomach lurching nervously when her eyes widen as she looks back.

“Miss Lewis,” he says affably, ignoring her companion. “I was wondering whether you needed a ride home?”

Brett’s reaction isn’t exactly polite. “Fuck off, asshole,” he snaps. “This isn’t anything to do with you.”

Rogers turns to look at him evenly. “I don’t believe I was talking to you.”

“Yeah,” Darcy huffs, “he was talking to me.”

Brett pushes Darcy out of the way and squares up to Steve, never mind that he’s barely up to his shoulder. Rogers is painfully aware of how unfair this fight looks but he’s not willing to back down. “I told you,” Brett says tightly, “to Fuck. Off.”

Steve looks down his nose, leaning into him. _Man, he hates bullies. Whether they’re smaller than him or not._ “And I told you, Brett, that I wasn’t talking to you,” he answers evenly. He turns and holds out his hand to Darcy. “I have my bike, Ms. Lewis,” he says. “You just say the word, I can have you home in a jiffy-”

Brett snorts. “Who the Hell is this guy? Clark fucking Kent?”

This time it’s Darcy who answers him. “No, he’s Mr. Rogers, you dick.”

Brett frowns. “Mr. Rogers, that guy you work with?”

She nods. “Mr. Rogers, that guy I work with. Also known as that guy who’s taking me home right now.” And she takes the phone Steve just handed to her and throws it at Brett, the small rectangle hitting off his chest before smashing open against the sidewalk. He snarls something that sounds distinctly like a swear word but when he goes to dash after Darcy Steve gets in his way. “Stay out of this, man,” Brett says quietly. “You don’t have any idea how much bad news that bitch is-”  
Darcy growls something and finally pulls out her tazer. “The only bad news here is you attempting to attack a government official and a member of our military,” she says tightly. She’s using that tone she learned from Agent Hill. “And trust me, B., you don’t wanna get mixed up in that- So walk away, while you still got legs to walk on, and go home to Sandra and your _kid_.”

Brett sneers at her, makes as if to lunge at her. But at the last minute he eyes Steve and stops himself. “We are so over,” he spits. “You’re never to call me again.”

“Halleh-fucking-lujah,” Darcy retorts. “And don’t worry, I won’t call. You, or your family. Now, if you’re ready, Steve?”

And with that she turns on her heel and holds her arm out to Steve, practically demanding that he take it. There’s a frisson of energy where his skin touches hers, and then they take off down the road together to find his bike, marching tightly in time. It’s only when they get out of sight of Brett that Steve realises Darcy’s shaking- Only then that he brings their walk to a halt-

“Didn’t want you to hear that, Cap,” she mutters darkly. “Didn’t want you to know anything about that.”

Steve sees his opening and he takes it. “Well, how about we grab a cup of coffee and you can not to talk to me about it, eh?”

Darcy gives a dry snort of laughter and he and his perverted, romantic crush decide to do just that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, hope you enjoyed that. And can I give a shout out to Meredeath, Inkandash and blackglass for your reviews? Thanks, it's nice to know I have some curious readers...


	5. Chapter Five: Manhandling

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER FIVE: MANHANDLING**

“I didn’t know about the kid.”

It’s the first thing she says when the waitress finally leaves their table, the word muttered darkly to the wooden counter top. That mane of long dark hair obscures her face as she says it though the ghost of a worried, bitten lip and a grimace can barely be seen through her locks. Steve nods, not sure what to say, but doing her the courtesy of not pretending he doesn’t know what she’s talking about-

And then she laughs. It sounds weird. Wrong. Bitter.

This isn’t the laugh she gives when she’s shooting the breeze with Tony or Bruce or Clint and for some reason that pisses Steve off no end.  
“I found his phone,” Darcy continues, when he doesn’t say anything. “I was looking for a song he had stored in there and I ran across a picture of his- Well, I thought she was his ex- Sandra, and their kid.” She leans back, eyes still closed, and puffs out a long huff of breath. She looks weary, all of a sudden.

“I’m a fucking moron,” she says.

He can’t let her go there. “No you’re not,” he replies.

She looks at him, eyes stark and appraising. “And who are you to make that call?”

Despite himself he gives her a cautious smile. “Why, I’m Captain America, ma’ame.” He flips her a salute, feeling like a dweeb, hoping she’ll laugh at it. “Would Captain America lie to you?”

“Guess not.” Darcy gives a sharp bark of laughter then and despite himself Steve’s smile widens. Just like with Esme he feels absurdly proud that he did something which pleases her, and he finds himself hoping he’ll have the opportunity to do it again. As if on cue the waitress returns with a latte for her and a black americano for him, her eyes landing on Steve as she gives him a smug, come-hither grin. It’s not the sort of thing he’s used to even after all this time in his new body, and he thinks that it’s not very ladylike to hit on a guy when he’s clearly here with someone else. Darcy must agree because she reaches out and places a hand, quite firmly and obviously, on his knee. Her grip is surprisingly strong as she gives him a little squeeze there.

“I got this,” she tells the waitress, earning a pout as the girl puts down their coffee.

She watches the server stalk off and grins.

“Don’t worry, Cap, you can do better than that.” She waggles her eyebrows at him. “Good looking man like you can do all sorts of better than that.”  
Steve blinks at the words, surprised and a little disappointed. He’d thought for a moment- _But no, he must have read things wrong_. She was only- Only trying to save him from a girl she didn’t think was right for him. Only doing for him what she’d have done for Tony or Hawkeye- _If, of course, either Pepper or Tasha had felt they needed help running off an interloping waitress_. But still, her hand’s still on his knee and it looks like she’s not planning on taking it anywhere in the near future-

She looks abruptly down at where she’s touched him and suddenly, just for a minute he could swear she’s blushing.

He feels the tips of his ears turn pink in response and a snap of electricity shoots right from his groin straight down to where her hand rests on his knee.

 _Not that she notices_.

“Sorry about that, Cap,” she says, some of her usual bravado returning. She takes her hand away, takes a sip of her coffee. Steve must have imagined the blush. “Not supposed to manhandle the superheroes, I know: Fury sent ’round a memo-”

The words are out of his mouth before he can really help himself.

“Doll,” he drawls, “you can manhandle me anytime.”

Now, if Bucky had said that Steve knows he’d have found a way to make it sound endearing. Either that or naughty and suave. Hell, if any of the Avengers had come out with that they’d somehow manage to make it sound cool. But when Steve says it just makes him sound like a horny teenage boy who’s letting his mouth run away with him in front of a beautiful dame- _Which, hey, is pretty much what just happened_. Except where he grew up he’d have gotten his face slapped for getting fresh: Even Bucky might have done, and that guy could have talked the knickers off a nun. His shock at his own words must show on his face; He has the distinct (and unwelcome) impression that his mouth is opening and closing like a fish. Darcy on the other hand merely gives him a long, measuring look, her lashes lowered, head cocked to the side alluringly.

And then she leans over and slowly, gently presses a kiss to his cheek…

_And forget the hand on his knee, this feels way better than **that**. _

Steve can feel his expression turn incredulous, knows his eyes must be wide as saucers. But he just can’t bring himself to give a damn. Because her lips are soft and her breath is warm and the way she’s leaning gives him a great view down her top- Not that he’s going to stare. Much. But you know, it’s only a little peck on the cheek: It’s not like they’ve exactly slid into third base. He’s been kissed before. He’s done himself some kissing. He knows what goes where and when. But this doesn’t feel like those other times because it’s so unexpected. This doesn’t feel like those times because… Because it’s not him trying to take the lead. And whatever else he and Peggy might have shared it wasn’t anything so, so brittle and wondrous and new and _nervous_ as this-

Darcy pulls back and he hears the puff of breath he lets out as she does so.

She tries to move back but he follows her, some instinct trying to keep him equidistant from those lovely, soft, oh-so-kissable lips.

She meets his eyes then, her own looking slightly… embarrassed. As if she’s done something she really didn’t mean to do. It hits Steve like a kick in the chest and some part of him which doesn’t normally come out hisses at him to fix it. _He doesn’t want her unhappy, he wants to be the person that makes everything **right**._ But though he instinctively reaches out a hand to stay her she still tries to stand up and move away from him. This spiky, confident woman now so rattled that she has trouble meeting his gaze. Manners and the voice inside him dictate that he stands when she does so and in doing it he realises that he towers over her. Her small form dwarfed by his larger one, two jigsaw pieces fitted one against the other as if they were made to be seen that way. And yet, this disjunction doesn’t make him feel powerful or strong. It doesn’t make him want to tower over her, show her who’s the boss. Instead an image flashes through his head, him on his knees, her in her chair, her fingers threading through his hair and stroking it as he kisses down her bare, lovely belly-

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” she says quietly, breaking through his reverie.

_She’s sorry?_

_He doesn’t want her to be sorry._

“What are you sorry about?” he asks and he swears his voice has dropped an octave.

_Now, when he doesn’t want to, he has finally apparently managed to channel Bucky’s deal-sealing tone._

She blinks up at him at that, leaning back to stare at him quizzically and in that moment the spell is broken. The image of him on his knees disappears as quickly as it came and he’s left with a very awkward moment (admittedly one he didn’t cause) in a coffee shop. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she says quietly. “I- I can be a bit of a bitch sometimes.”

He reaches out and takes her elbow, forces his touch to be gentle. He doesn’t want to scare her, doesn’t want to remind her of what he is.

_For a moment he just wants to be Steve._

“You’re not a bitch,” he says quietly. “Don’t ever- Just because that idiot Brett says you are it doesn’t make it so.”

She shakes her head at him as if he doesn’t understand what he’s saying. “I kissed you. Just because I wanted to see what you’d do. Just because… Because you’re Steve and you’re being nice to me, and you’re not like the guys I date.” She blows out a puff of breath. “You don’t want someone who’d do that, Cap,” she says more quietly. “I’m the smart girl, and the funny girl, and the snaky girl, and maybe even the kickass girl, but I’m not the nice girl.” She looks straight at him.

“And you deserve the nice girl who doesn’t kiss you because she doesn’t know what else to do when a guy’s not a jerk to her.”

And with that she stands up and picks up her purse. Throwing some money on the table and walking quickly away. For a moment Steve contemplates letting her go, too rattled by her kiss and too confused by her apology to know what to do-

And then Esme’s voice, of all people’s, pops into his head.

 _Faint heart_ , it says, _never won fair maiden._

_Now go after her, my perverted, romantic little pet._

And with that advice ringing in his head Steve takes off after Darcy-

Because he’s never had a woman apologise for kissing him and he’s not damn well starting now.


	6. Chapter Six: Grownups

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER SIX: GROWNUPS**

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Darcy stomps down the street, muttering to herself and pulling the belt of her coat tightly about her waist. Her purse held tightly in her hand as she mentally calculates whether her G-Woman pay-cheque will cover a cab ride home. (It won’t.) In the time she’s been inside with Steve the night’s gotten icy, the wind carrying a bite to it she didn’t expect when she left the house this morning: The moon’s covered, clouds scudding across its surface as the breeze tosses twirls her skirt and coat around her legs. _It’s not a night for riding the subway,_ she thinks,  _It’s a night for sitting in with a glass of wine and the warmest pyjamas you can find-_

And yet somehow she knows she won’t end up doing that.

_No, she suspects that if there’s a glass of wine in her future, it’ll be spent torturing herself over what she did to Steve._

It’s not that she really intended to do it: If she were gonna sexually harass a member of the Avengers she knows it’d be Hawkeye, the muscled, compact archer being much more her kind of a guy- _Even if she suspects that Tasha would make her disappear so completely that they’d never find her body._ In fact, the only reason she even agreed to sit down with Steve tonight is that she’s so not interested in him: She knows the big, beefy, pretty-boy type and she figures it’s only a matter of weeks before Steve finally realises the gift Project Rebirth gave him and starts hitting on the hotties like there’s no tomorrow. Starts acting like every asshole she ever knew in high school and making like he’s got game. And maybe that’s why she’s always stayed away from him, she thinks. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t made more of an effort to befriend him like she did the others-

_Cuz watching him turn from the nice guy he is now into a good-looking douche is gonna majorly suck, she knows that._

_Whether the two of them are friends or not._

And yet tonight, just for a second she let herself forget all that. When he took her side with Brett and when he seemed so non-judgemental about the fact that her boyfriend had essentially cast her in the role of home-wrecking whore, well, for a second she got kinda… unfocussed. _(Yeah, Darce, that’s the word for it)_. Kinda just… let herself believe. Because if Captain America weren’t just some old-fashioned idol, if Steve weren’t really a douche deep down… Well, then maybe she could have coffee with him. Maybe she could be safe around him, maybe she could cut the guy some slack. But even as she’d thought that she’d known it wouldn’t be that simple. If that were possible then nothing she knows about men- Nothing- would make a lick of sense. _And there is no way she is dumb enough to believe that_ , she had told herself, _no way in Hell_.

_Believing shit like **that** is for children: lead yourself down that route and you’ll only wind up with a well-deserved broken heart. _

And maybe that’s why she kissed him, she thinks uneasily now. Maybe she’d thought she might embarrass him a little, or might even give him a hint of something he might want some day but couldn’t ever have. She certainly hadn’t expected his reaction to a little kiss, hadn’t expected him to stare at her in… wonder. _(Did grown men even do “wonder,” when you kissed them?)_ She hadn’t expected the sigh he gave when she pressed her lip to his cheek, hadn’t expected the shiver of undisguised arousal she’d seen pass through his bulky frame. But perhaps more than anything else she hadn’t expected herself to respond, had assumed herself completely and utterly immune to him-

And yet, in that moment when she kissed him she’d felt the effect of his reaction to her far more intimately than she’d previously believed possible.

And she’s honest enough with herself to admit that it sent her running straight out the door- _Cuz Darcy Lewis isn’t exactly clear on what to do about **that**. _

She slows down then, realising that she’s coming to a subway station. Only half paying attention to what she’s doing she pulls out her Metrocard and scans herself through, worrying her lip as she thinks. It doesn’t make any sense, she tells herself stubbornly. Grown women do not react to a peck on the cheek like that, and grown men certainly don’t- Unless they’re trying to play you. _Unless it’s a lie_. And yet, was there a man alive less like a player than Steven Grant Rogers? She asks herself. Is there anyone less likely to lie to her than that man?

She’s desperately trying to come up with an answer in the affirmative to that when she hears him call her name.

Just for a second she’s tempted to keep walking but no matter what she might have said to him, she’s not as much of a bitch as _that_.

So she stops and looks around the subway station, surprised that he followed her. Some tiny part of her expected him to run off, expected him to think she was a bitch and bail. But she supposes that wasn’t very likely, not with the Steve Rogers she knows. And she supposes she shouldn’t be relieved that he came after, not after she told him to take a hike. But when he jumps the subway stall without even breaking eye-contact with her she can’t help the little shiver that goes through her. It’s late and the station’s all but empty so there’s nobody to see but her. And yet- That tiny act of rebelliousness sets something flip-flopping in her belly. The most well-behaved human being she knows did that to get to her. But Darcy is a grownup and grownups don’t ever feel tingly at the sight of a cute boy- _And they certainly aren’t impressed with stall-jumping_ -

So she crosses her arms and sets her expression to bored-and-slightly-pissed; Steve’s face falls when he sees it.

Worryingly for her status as an grownup, Darcy can’t keep the act up when she sees the effect it has on him.

He comes to a halt in front of her then, and, well, eye-contact becomes an issue- _For both of them._ Darcy tugs nervously on the belt of her coat, pulling it tighter and twining its length around her fingers. Shifting her weight from foot to foot. Steve’s eyes come to rest on the belt, his expression riveted, and just for a moment the ghost of his reaction to her kiss seems to shiver through his frame. His ears turning pink as he stares at it, the back of his neck following suit. It seems such a strange thing to do that Darcy tugs the belt the other way, seeing if his eyes follow it. They do, his look intent and then guilty… And suddenly his blue eyes flick up to hers. What she sees there surprises her: She’s not used to seeing straight inside someone, no detours or games or bluffs. Just pure, unadulterated Steve, And in that moment she can see right into him, can see something hungry and shy and confused and wanting…

It comes together in her head before she really understand what _it_ is.

All she knows is that she pulls the coat’s belt loose and holds it out to him, edges hanging limply from her hands.

Steve reaches out as gently for it as he reached out for her back in the coffee shop and runs his fingers along the belt. He’s looking at her as he does it, as if asking permission somehow. She gives a jerky nod, not entirely sure what she’s agreeing to, knowing only that it might be okay if it’s with him. After all, he’s Steve and he’s Captain America: The only way he’d be more trustworthy is if he really were Clark frickin’ Kent- _And she’s not 100% convinced that he’s not._ He lets out a shaky breath: “You sure?” he asks her unsteadily. The weird thing is that she has the feeling he knows as much about what’s going on between them as she does. “You- Can I- Is it… Is it okay with you?”

Again she nods.

“Thank you,” he tells her, and there’s something about his tone in saying it that has the sound of a vow.

**_Wow._ **

Acting on instinct Darcy very gently puts one end of the belt into his hands then. His fist tightens around it. “I think if it’s with you, it can’t not be okay,” she says softly, and for a moment she wants to shudder at how dumbass that sounds, how childish and immature and hopeful and- and- Not who she is now. But if Steve thinks it’s dumb he doesn’t show it. Instead he twines the belt around his hands- once, twice- and then loops it carefully into a knot. A tiny noose hanging from his fingertips, the width of it enough for a person’s wrist and hand. For a moment something flares in Darcy: Not alarm, more unwillingness. That feeling you get when you kiss someone you’re really into and it just doesn’t feel right. But then Steve slips the knotted belt over _his_ wrist, staring at it, adjusting it so that it can’t slip over _his_ fingers-

And then he hands the end of the belt back to Darcy. Nods to her.

She reaches out to take it breathlessly, her bare hand tingling where their fingers make contact, and then pulls the rope taut.

For a moment they just stand there, staring at one another, the belt hanging between them. Darcy knows that with one sharp pull Steve could yank her towards him, could probably tear the belt without even having to think twice- But he doesn’t. Instead he continues to stare at her, his eyes wide, stance haunted. The longer he stands there, the more tension she can see in his frame. The silence stretches out, the thin link between them growing ever tighter, ever stronger. Darcy can feel her mouth turning dry and she hasn’t a clue to the cause. And then suddenly a train pulls into the platform below, the noise of it deafening. Both of them jump and without even thinking about it Darcy pulls Steve towards her- _And he comes as willingly as a lamb._ His chest collides with hers, his big, warm body pressing against her for a second. His eyes widen and he looks like he’s going to apologise but before he can Darcy presses her forehead to his lips to quiet him.

“My place?” she murmurs, and he nods, looking uncertain.

“My place,” she repeats, making it an order, not a request.

He nods again, looking more comfortable, moving so that he’s tight against her side and nobody can see the belt that ties them together-

And then they hurry down the steps and catch the F train to Brooklyn.

Darcy doesn’t let go of the belt the entire ride.

 


	7. Chapter Seven: Orders

_Disclaimer_ : This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER SEVEN: ORDERS**

By the time they reach Darcy’s place Steve’s practically vibrating.

She can feel him at her side, tension shivering through his frame. His hands wrapped tightly around the belt which joins them, knuckles white, grip firm. He’s been silent- so has she- the entire journey, but somehow it hasn’t been uncomfortable. It’s more like he’s been waiting for something for a long time and he doesn’t need to expend energy doing anything else now that it looks like it’s about to arrive. But once they get to her place, once she manages to pull him inside the door and bolt it shut, then he seems to become uncertain. As soon as the door clicks closed he stares at it, blinking as if he’d forgotten it was there. For a moment Darcy’s tempted to ask him if everything is alright, ask him how he wants to do this-

But then he turns to her, hands dropped to his sides, gaze guileless and… questioning. _Trusting._

She remembers the way he responded when she asked him to come here, remembers how he responded when she turned it into an order, and though she is nervous she suddenly realises she knows what to do. Kind of.

_And kind of will have to do._

So she nods towards the sitting room, telling him to go there. He obeys without question, padding silently to stand before her fireplace. The hand tied to the belt trailing backwards so he doesn’t have to tug her to follow. Once he reaches the precise spot she indicated he turns to face her, arms at his back in the military “at ease,” posture, gaze still riveted on her. Darcy lets him keep eye-contact, the belt held before her, and then steps closer until they’re practically toe to toe. He gulps as she leans into him, the gesture strangely vulnerable. She can see the pulse at his throat hammering, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “You with me, soldier?” she says quietly and his pulse jumps a little.

“Yes, ma’ame,” he answers, and she can see his body tremble on the last word.

_So he likes calling her ma’ame: She can work with that._

_She knows it’s what he calls a female superior officer, so she guesses it kinda fits._

An idea begins to form at the back of her mind then and she allows herself to drop back into her armchair, letting out the length of the belt so he doesn’t come with her. The chair’s a ratty old thing but it’s comfortable, and Darcy’s fairly certain she’s going to be here for a while. As soon as she’s seated she gives an experimental tug on the belt, pulling Steve towards her. Again he comes easily, only halting when his knees are pressed against hers, his hands still in the “at ease,” position behind his back. Continuing to keep eye-contact Darcy reaches forward and takes the wrist he didn’t tie, pulling both of his hands towards her until they’re side by side. Matching his earlier movements she loops her end of the belt around his free wrist, biting her lip at the effort of not making the knot too tight. But Steve stiffens uncomfortably and she stops, nearly moving her hand away-

“Not what you want, soldier?”

She he can see the discomfort in his face when he close his eyes and shakes his head that no, it’s not. “I can’t- That won’t work,” he says quietly. “I need- I’ll need more, ma’ame.”

Darcy tips his dipped head up to look at her. “Show me.”

A sort of blissful… shudder seems to go through Steve at the gesture.

And then he opens his eyes and does as he’s told.

Because he drops to his knees, leaning forward slightly. His spine bends like a bow before her, his warmth reaching out to where she’s sitting in that chair as his right shoulder presses lightly against her calf. “You need to tie it around me, ma’ame,” he says softly. He ducks his head and Darcy abruptly realises he’s… It’s like he’s offering himself. That flip-flop feeling goes through her belly, warmth and wetness beginning to curl between her legs. “The rope,” he’s saying. “Tie it to me, tight. Bind me. Please, ma’ame- It needs to be…”

He looks up at her suddenly.

“I need you to make sure it’ll hold me firm.”

That flip-flopping feeling gets worse. “If that’s what you want, soldier,” Darcy murmurs, almost breathless, “Then that’s what I’ll do to you.” And carefully watching his reaction she loops the belt around his waist, tying it at the base of his spine. He sighs in contentment as she does so, and an answering shudder of pleasure goes through her. The two ends of the belt hand equidistant from the knot at his back, one binding his wrist, the other loose. Darcy takes the loose end and loops it around his wrist, tying it so that it’s identical to the other one. Steve gives a sharp tug with both arms and his eyes drift shut when he feels how little give the knots have. Acting on instinct Darcy reaches out and ruffles her hand through his hair, down his cheek. He sighs again, leaning into her palm, the tension beginning to steal out of his frame. She lets her hand drift down to his jaw, her thumb brushing against his lower lip; He opens his mouth as she does it, tongue chasing her fingers and she dips her thumb gently inside his mouth. The wetness between her legs doubling as he instinctively sucks. Darcy’s had her fair share of boyfriends, some good in the sack, most mediocre, but she’s never felt anything quite like this before. _She’s never made anyone so happy with something so small._ And as she thinks that suddenly she knows what else she wants, what else she’s going to take from him-

“Open your eyes, soldier,” she says, her voice surprising her with its huskiness.

Steve’s blue eyes snap open, going unerringly to hers without his having to be told.

“What do you need, ma’ame?” he asks, his lips still mere inches from her fingers.

Darcy feels a flush of boldness go through her, feels her heartbeat start to hammer. _She hasn’t felt this excited, this free in years_. “I need you to watch, soldier,” she says softly. “And then I need you to do as you are fucking told. We clear on that?”

Steve gulps and nods, his eyes turning darker. That hunger she saw in the subway’s there again, relentless and somehow shy, not sure of its own voice. “Crystal, ma’ame.”

So Darcy stands, watching his reaction as she slowly unzips her pencil-skirted dress and pulls it up over her shoulders. His eyes widen at the sight of her in only shirt, underwear and heels, expression turning even hungrier as she slowly unbuttons her top. It’s usually an uncomfortable moment for her, taking her shirt off: She knows it’s the one thing every man she dates has been dreaming of and she can usually pinpoint it as the second they lose interest in paying attention to her as anything other than the great rack they want to fuck. But though Steve’s look is appreciative- _his ears, the entire back of his neck, turn red, but he can’t seem to look away_ \- he’s not staring only at her chest. In fact, even when she reaches behind and slips her bra off she still has the sense that Steve’s with her. Because his eyes widen momentarily but then they gaze up to meet her own, his tongue darting out to lick his lips-

“You like this,” she says, and she doesn’t allow herself to make it into a question.

He nods, once, curtly. “Yes, ma’ame.” She sees his hands tighten, sees him pull a little against the belt. “You’re- You’re So beautiful,” he says.

“You’re so beautiful I almost wish my hands weren’t tied.”

Pleasure tingles through Darcy then, and she realises she’s smiling. “Glad we’ve established that,” she tells him. “But there’s more to this show.” And she slides down onto her back in the armchair, raising her legs and ass and pulling her panties off her. She peeks around her knees to see Steve staring in rapt adoration at this view of her thighs and butt. Once she’s pulled the panties off she tosses them, not caring where they land: It’s not like they’re going anywhere, and she has more important things to think about. She places her foot on Steve’s shoulder, canting her legs open so that he can see her pussy. The smell of her arousal hits her and she sees him register it, but she doesn’t let it distract her from what she wants to do. “Soldier,” she says softly, and her voice is a purr she doesn’t recognise. “Would you like your orders?”

His voice is kinda unsteady, and it sends an answering tremor through her.

“Yes, ma’ame,” he says. “I would. _Please, tell me._ ”

Her grin is slow. Devilish. And for once it’s not an act she’s putting on for anyone. _This is really how she feels_. “Then I want you to take that beautiful, sinful mouth of yours and I want you to eat me,” she tells him. His eyes widen, but he doesn’t look away. “I want you to kiss and lick and suck me, I want to feel your tongue in my cunt, making me come.” She cocks an eyebrow at him. “Can you do that?”

Steve nods, looking nervous but certain. “Yes I can, ma’ame.”

Her grin grows wider. “Then what are you waiting for? You have your orders, soldier- Now fall fucking in.”

And she reaches forward, pulling his head towards her. She can feel the thickness of his hair between her fingers, hear the strangled gasp of pleasure he gives as her fingers dig into the back of his head. And then his tongue’s inside her, touching, tasting, sliding. His shoulders shuddering beneath her, his whole body canted towards the task of giving her pleasure, of getting her off. There’s no hesitation in him, not worry. He sucks her juices greedily, not an ounce of shyness about him as his tongue darts into her over and over again. His hips are pistoning with the movements of his head, she distantly realises. He’s jerking his entire body in time with hers, his own arousal apparently moving in tandem with hers. And then, suddenly, Darcy feels it- The precipice of orgasm, the sharp, keening fall off it. He bites lightly at her clit and her arches her body beneath him, her voice shouting out hoarsely a word which she knows must be his name. Steve’s voice joins her, his body shuddering, orgasm apparently taking him as well as her-

And then suddenly he pulls his head away, bows it. His eyes are closed.

Darcy dimly feels the soft, wet pressure of two kisses Steve feathers against her feet.

For a moment there is nothing but their breaths, their heartbeats, their eyes closed to each other. Their bodies still pressed together after the act that they have shared. Steve’s head has come to rest on her knees, and without her even willing them to her fingers thread through his hair again. She strokes it and he all but purrs against her, the vibration of his voice setting goose-bumps against her skin. “Did I do well, ma’ame?” he asks her, and his voice sounds sated. There’s something so calming in it, it tugs at Darcy’s heart.

She reaches forward and kisses his mouth- The first time she’s done so- and inhales the scent of him. She has the oddest that she’ll remember this moment until the day she dies.

“Soldier,” she says, “You sure know how to follow orders.”

They laugh at her words, their pleasure both mutual and new.

And then Darcy unties Steve’s hands and he picks her up and they both stagger towards her bed together-

They fall asleep wrapped around one another, a shared smile their companion in the night.


	8. Chapter Eight: Tender

_Disclaime_ r: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER EIGHT: TENDER**

When he wakes up she’s wrapped around him.

Steve opens his eyes to find Darcy twined around his body. Her lips pressed against his solar plexus, one small hand holding his cock. Some time in the night he must have shucked his shoes, socks and pants and now he’s bare except for a t-shirt: Darcy’s curled in underneath the shirt’s hem as if she’s hiding from the daylight, the feeling of her breath tickling his skin as her body rises and falls in a beautiful, syncopated rhythm that’s hers alone. Steve sighs, reaching out to gently slide his fingers along her spine. He can feel every bump, every indentation, feel the delicate tracery of her ribs beneath his hands.

_She is so very beautiful, he can’t really believe she’s here._

As if sensing what he’s doing she gives a little moan, moving unconsciously onto her back to give him better access; Steve smiles at the notion that she’s enjoying this, begins rubbing his fingers in soothing circles over her shoulders and then down to her ass. Her thighs. His own cock hardens in response; She frowns in her sleep and instantly he stalls, that voice in his head he’s starting to recognise as his… well, his tendency, telling him to stop anything which she doesn’t like. _Telling him to make her as happy as she can possibly be._ But at his stillness she frowns some more, her head finally ducking out from under his t-shirt-

Her eyelashes flutter open as she stares at him, a cute, quizzical frown puckering her eyebrows.

Light blue eyes meet dark blue ones and for a moment neither of them speaks.

“Morning,” he says very softly then, his voice still rough from last night, his tone tentative.

_He’s not really sure what the etiquette is for this situation and by the looks of it neither is she._

“Morning, soldier,” she responds and at the words they both immediately blush scarlet. Even Darcy’s normally immovable chutzpah was apparently unable to survive last night intact. But then she smiles- his girl smiles at him- and suddenly Steve feels about a hundred feet tall. Knows everything’s alright between them, and that last night was good for her too. _Because if she was horrified that he was some pervert freak who got off on being tied up then she wouldn’t be looking at him like that, now would she?_ Of course she wouldn’t.

So he reaches down and very gently, very tentatively kisses her. He can’t help himself.

Darcy raises herself up to meet him halfway with an eagerness he doesn’t expect, upping the kiss’s ante as she does.

Because she drags her fingers down his body, raking her nails lightly. Not enough to hurt him, just enough to make certain he knows she’s there. _Just enough to say “mine.”_ Steve gasps and their lips break contact, a giggle falling from Darcy’s. He tries to kiss her again but she shakes her head coquettishly, pulling mock-sternly away. Steve frowns, not sure of the rules or what game she’s playing. He only knows that he wants to kiss her and she’s not letting him- _There must be **something** he can do to earn that right_ -

And as if she read his mind she takes the hem of his t-shirt and tugs it slowly off him, grinning brightly. Taking the time to bury her nose in its scent, the sight of that making Steve harder than he thinks he’s ever been. It’s one of the standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D. ones he’s got a tonne of and Steve can’t imagine what she likes so much about it- _Though if she wants she can have every single one he owns._ But it turns out it’s not the t-shirt she’s interested in, it’s what she can do with it. Because she takes the fabric and folds it tightly, moulding it into a long strip about a foot long. Steve frowns, not understanding, and her gaze flickers up to her headboard. It’s metal, tubes of cheap wrought-iron making a grid pattern. It doesn’t look very sturdy to Steve and his dubiousness must show in his face. But still she reaches out and traces its length, her bare breasts lifting as she shifts her weight, her body as beautiful as Steve remembers-

And then she reaches down and brushes the hair from his eyes, her touch light and gentle and…tender. _It’s been so long since anyone’s been tender with him, and for a moment a jolt of something mixed-up and shivering goes through him, making his chest ache._ But he manages to shake it off, unwilling to examine it: He’s a soldier and he’s been through enough already, he doesn’t want to think about _that_. So he lets Darcy gently take both his wrists in her hands and pull his arms up until they’re pressed against the headboard. Lets her twine his fingers around the wrought iron and squeezes them between her own until he takes the hint and grips the metal hard. For a moment neither of them breathe, for a moment they both just stare at one another. There’s that same charge in the air there was last night, when Darcy handed him her belt. And then-

“I need you to hold on to this, soldier,” she tells him softly. “Can you do that for me?”

Steve frowns. He’s never- in all his fantasies something’s been binding him. He’s never had to hold on just on his own. But if Darcy’s asking him to do it, well… That’s kind of okay with him.

_He doesn’t believe she’d do anything to hurt him, super-soldier or no._

So he nods and as he does so he sees a beautiful smile transform her features. He remembers witnessing something similar last night, when she told him she wanted him to watch her undress. This time simple, uncomplicated happiness burns in his chest, pleasure at having pleased her making his stomach flip. He’s fairly certain there’s little he wouldn’t do to put that smile on her face, and the knowledge both delights and worries him. “What do you want me to do, ma’am?” he asks, aware of how eager he sounds. How aroused. His hands tighten on the headboard, apparently of their own volition. “What else can I do for you?”

She smiles, reaches down towards him. When she gets close enough he closes in eyes in pleasure and he feels two gentle kisses pressed against his eyelids. Then two more pressed to the gap between his brows. _It feels wonderful_. “So impatient, soldier,” she murmurs and there’s that devilish tone to her voice again. Steve’s skin tingles. “Weren’t you told in basic training that good things come to those who wait?”

His throat’s dry. “And would you like me to wait, ma’am?” he asks her.

He hears the puff of her laughter and tries to open his eyes. But she kisses them shut again. “You don’t ask what I like, soldier,” she says. “You wait for me to tell you, we clear on that?”

He can feel his cock getting harder, his heart hammering. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her tongue reaches down to trace the edge of his ear. “I can’t hear you,” she whispers, her voice sing-song, her fingers sliding all across his skin. _It’s so distracting…_

“Yes, ma’am,” he says more loudly. His hips have to move, he can’t help himself. He presses up into her and it feels so damn _good_. “Whatever you say, ma’am,” he says. “Just tell me what you need, ma’am-”

Her voice drops so low he can barely hear her. “I need you to trust me,” she almost whispers-

And then she presses his folded-up t-shirt to his eyes and quickly ties the knot tightly at the back of his head.

The darkness is total though not frightening. Steve’s pretty certain he could navigate this room if he had to, using only his senses of sound, touch and smell. And maybe that’s the point, because behind the mask there’s nothing to sense but Darcy. Nothing to see, nothing to investigate. In the world behind his blindfold she’s literally the entire universe to him. And that thought doesn’t worry him, it sends a wave of peacefulness through him that goes straight down to his bones. In the darkness he feels her hair tickle down his chest, feels the wet, delicate progress of her lips and tongue as she kisses and caresses his body. Her mouth travels over his hipbone and his pelvis jumps in pure instinct: He feels rather than hears her laughter, feels her fingers tracing up to caress and tug his… _Good Lord, she’s wrapped her hand around his cock again._ Her other hand slipping and sliding over his abdominals, the rise of his hip and the curve of his ass. Widening his legs, opening him up for her. Every caress different and wanted and new. Steve’s never been touched like this, not by anyone. He’s kissed a few dames, has even got lucky, but they never- _No woman he’s ever met before would touch him like **this**_ -

And then he feels wetness and heat envelope his length, realises with a sudden jolt that Darcy’s taken his cock in her mouth. _Jesus._

She sucks and licks, her mouth the single most delicious, wondrous thing he’s ever encountered, and Steve loses all control over his body- All control except for his hands.

Because though his hips rise and fall with the movements of her mouth, the pressure at the base of his spine whirling and storming- _He doesn’t let go of the headboard_. He’s not entirely certain why, except that the knowledge that he’s earning his pleasure makes that pleasure sweeter. The knowledge that he’s doing as he’s been told setting peace and excitement warring in his body, his breath coming in quick, tight pants. He can hear Darcy’s movements, feel her suckling him harder and harder. Her hands work in tandem with her lips, the weight of her small body draped across his own. Her pussy’s wetness soaking into his skin. She rides him harder and he grips the headrest harder, she increases her pace and his hips keep time until he just can’t seem to stop. Steve can’t breath, his eyes squeezed shut, his body twisting into knots. Everything about this is paradise, the pleasure he’s been chasing for so many months finally hunting him down. And then suddenly every thought, every emotion, every ounce of who he is pours out of him. He lets out a hoarse yell, jerking his entire body though he doesn’t loose control of his hands. The bed shifts, he hears Darcy’s yelp as he comes ever harder for her-

And when he opens his eyes the headboard’s still in his hands, having been yanked off the bed entirely.

Darcy’s staring at him, wide eyed, a completely shocked look on her face.

For a moment sheer, unadulterated panic floods through Steve. Shame at what he did, at what he could have done the only thing he can register. He shouldn’t have- _Lord, what was he thinking? What would have happened to Darcy if he was holding **her** when he came like that?_ But just as he’s about to disappear into a pit of loathing he hears something he can’t quite believe. Darcy’s started laughing, her shoulders shaking, her bare breasts swaying in amusement. And the weird thing is, she doesn’t look scared at all. Before he can say anything she reaches down and kisses him; He can taste himself on her lips, feel her tongue sliding gently against his. The wetness on her skin must be from him. “That was amazing, soldier,” she murmurs, her tone sleepy. “You’re delicious. Delicious and perfect and... and mine.” She giggles. “Though how about the next time we do this we demolish your place instead?” And to Steve’s amazement she shakes her head and curls into him, her warm, small body turned in trustingly towards him. 

He's still worrying about it when they both make it into S.H.I.E.L.D head-quarters-

_And one look at Thor's face tells him he's not the only person with questions about last night._

 


	9. Chapter Nine: Intentions

_Disclaimer_ : This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER NINE: INTENTIONS**

Turns out, for a spy Steve’s not exactly stealthy.

After all, he left his bike at the Avengers’ Tower last night for everyone to see, and when he stumbles into work he realises that he’s wearing the same clothes as the night before and that everyone- _and he does mean everyone_ \- is going to notice it.

_In fact, within ten seconds everyone already has._

Darcy has no such trouble, a lifetime of misbehaviour apparently teaching her to turn up at the office separately from him, wearing new clothes and having accidentally-on-purpose run into a work colleague on the subway who can vouch for her time of arrival. It’s actually a thing of beauty to witness, the way she blithely marches into Stark’s briefing room, giving nary a hint of what she was doing with one of Stark’s team-mates last night. The difference in her between Steve’s kissing her goodbye on her doorstep and nodding a hello to her as she takes a seat is enough to make his stomach flip unhappily and tie his insides into knots: Outside of the cocoon of safety and happiness her bedroom provided Rogers isn’t entirely sure where he stands with her. Oh, he knows the younger crowd are more casual about sex than he is, and he knows she may simply consider what they did together to be “hooking up,” with consequences no greater than that term implies. But that’s not what it was to Steve and he’s not sure how to tell her that without sounding like a) a clingy boyfriend, which he’s not or b) a potential stalker, which he’s rather prefer she didn’t view him as. And all of that’s without factoring in how worried he is about what he did to her headboard this morning, how worried he is about how he might have hurt her-

So all things being equal, Steve’s not exactly a happy camper (to use Darcy’s phrase) this morning.

And that’s _before_ he looks up to find the 6’4 Norse God In The Office glaring at him, eyes narrowed, while Darcy teases Stark about how whipped his girl Pepper has him.

There are times, grave times, when Steve wishes he had a face made for lying but alas, he doesn’t. _And one look at Thor is enough to convince him that, short of another alien invasion or Loki breaking free from Nornheim, nothing is getting him out of a Big Brotherly Talk._ So when Fury calls a halt to the meeting and dismisses everyone (and honestly, he could have announced they were all about to run off to join a circus for all the attention Steve was paying) Thor rises and sidles over to his team-mate. Smiling politely at everyone, a hand the weight of a small European car coming to rest on Steve’s shoulder as he steers him towards the door. Darcy looks up from her bag to see the two men disappearing out the door, Thor’s muttered, “Come Steven, let us partake of a beverage,” lost to her as the Asgardian manhandles Rogers down the corridor towards the elevators and thence onto the street. Steve supposes he could fight him but hey, they’ve just gotten the place fixed so nice after the Battle of Manhattan and he’d hate to undo all Ms. Potts’ good work over something so personal-

So he allows himself to be manoeuvred into the coffee shop on the corner of 42nd Street and Madison Avenue. It’s only about 10 blocks away but it’s relatively safe and nearly-S.H.I.E.L.D- free, Reed Richard’s Baxter Building not being far off. The waiters seem to know Thor because they nod to him as he walks in, a short, laughing-faced server asking him whether he wants “the usual?” while he takes his seat, the girl placing what looks like a triple shot espresso at his elbow moments later. “Your friend want anything, hun?” she asks, nodding to Steve. “Cuz if it’s caffeinated, we got it-”

Thor inclines his head politely to the server. “I have not yet ascertained whether he deserves one of your excellent beverages, Miley,” he says courteously.  
Miley The Waitress grins. “He been bad?”

Thor shoots a measuring look at him. “That remains to be seen.”

She snorts with laughter and mutters something about not leaving blood stains. Says that if the boys make any mess she’s taking it up with Jane Foster before ducking back behind the till. Thor smiles as she walks off and takes a small sip of his espresso, the liquid so thick Steve thinks it could probably stand without the aid of the cup. The silence stretches out, the two Avengers staring awkwardly at one another, the pressure of what’s not being said humming through the room. Thor seems perfectly at his ease, the espresso apparently more than enough to occupy his attention as he leaves his companion to stew in his own juices-

Which is why Steve breaks first.

Mainly because he doesn’t want any sort of rumours or innuendo being lobbed around about Darcy-

_But also because Thor’s expression bears an eerie resemblance to Sister Mary Clarence’s look when she caught him up to no good in the orphanage, which is… disconcerting, to say the least._

So after a moment he pulls himself together, reminding himself that not only is he no longer a 90 pound asthmatic but he is also (theoretically speaking) Thor’s commanding officer. _And if he were to suddenly disappear he flatters himself that Darcy would take it out of the Thunder God’s side._ “If you have something to say,” he begins, wishing his voice didn’t sound so damn guilty, “then say it, Thor.”

The Asgardian merely looks at him, takes another sip of his espresso.

“She’s a grown woman and I’m a grown man,” Steve tries again, “and it’s really none of your damn business what we do.”

Thor must realise that he’s sworn- and how unusual it is for him- because he cocks an eyebrow, his gaze still measuring.

_Steve’s starting to wonder whether punching him out might not have been a better idea._

“Look, she’s a really great dame- I mean girl- I mean, well, she’s not a girl or a dame, she’s a lady-”

Thor’s voice is practically a growl. “And have you been treating her like a lady, Steven?”

A memory flashes through Steve’s head from last night, his lips pressed against her feet after she came for him, his body bowed before hers as she sat like a goddess in that chair. Her fingers tangling through his hair, her lips swollen where she’d bitten them- If a more beautiful, ladylike sight exists Steve has yet to see it. Can’t even imagine it, and knows Darcy would be a part of it if he could.

_But how can he say **that** out loud? _

_Thor would beat the living bejeezus out of him and he can’t really say he’d blame him- In fact, if it were anyone other than himself he might offer to help._

Something of the nature of his thoughts must show in his face though because again Thor narrows his eyes at him. But this look isn’t quite so accusing, it’s more… pondering, as if the other man is weighing up what he sees. Despite his red-tipped ears Steve forces himself to meet Thor’s gaze bluntly. He may not be too proud of his… tendencies, but he’ll be damned before he lets anyone make out that Darcy’s done anything wrong.

“There’s no way not to treat Darcy like a lady,” he mutters. “You know that, I know that- Hell, most of the Avengers would go to war just for the suggestion that she’s not.”

And it’s true: they love their liaison, their key to the outside world. If Pepper Potts is the team’s mother hen and Fury’s the paterfamilias then Darcy’s their baby sister, the team’s touch-stone for normal. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do for her, her crappy taste in boyfriends aside.

Apparently whatever Thor discerns in him when he makes this little speech is satisfactory. Steve sees it in the way the other man relaxes slightly, some of the stiffness leaving his frame. For a moment there he had indeed resembled nothing so much as the Crown Prince of Asgard but now he’s Steve’s team-mate again.

_Not that being Steve’s team-mate gives Steve a free pass though, as he immediately finds out._

“I am about to tell you something, Steven,” Thor says evenly, “And I need you to understand that it will not leave this room.” Steve nods, leans in closer. He gets the impression that looking carefree would not be wise right now. “When I came to this world, I pledged to protect it,” Thor continues. “I have not always been successful in that endeavour- But I have always done my best. I have taken the Avengers as my companions, and I have taken Jane Foster as my Hand-fasted-” Steve nods, remembering the ceremony. Not sure where this is going at all but content to listen all the same.

“What I have not made open is the other members of this world I have taken into my particular protection,” Thor continues more softly. “Specifically Erik Selvig, Coulson’s remaining brother and Darcy. They are my extended family now, what we on Asgard call a _hrashcael_. That also makes them minor royalty, though I have not told Darcy that.”

Despite himself Steve grins, imagining his girl’s reaction. She’d make a great princess, he’s sure. Apparently Thor agrees because this time his smile is genuine. It doesn’t stop him looking intimidating as all get out, but it’s nice to see that he and Steve have found some common ground where Darcy’s concerned.

“So now do you understand why I must ask you this?” Thor says quietly. “I know that- I know that things on Midgard are not as they are where I grew up. In this, I think we are alike. But I have watched Darcy accept poor suitor after poor suitor, each one less deserving than the last. For such a clever woman, she makes foolish choices in her men folk. It’s almost like she has given up on the notion of finding a worthy mate. And now you arrive, suddenly paying attention, suddenly staring at her so longingly. Appearing before us all so ruffled and so guilty on a morning when she has obviously just come from a bed that’s not her own, and…” He sighs. “I worry for her, Steven. I know I perhaps have no right to it, but I worry.” Again that blue-eyed gaze bores into him. “I do not want you to be something she regrets.

I do not want that for either of you.”

Something lodges in Steve’s chest then, something that feels like a stone- Or a lump of ice. The depth of Thor’s words and their import settling through his body like a physical blow. Because he can understand all too well what the Asgardian is alluding to- _And is he really so wrong to worry?_ Darcy took him home last night having just broken up with her boyfriend of six months. The guy might have been a jerk, but he was with her all that time and she’d literally just kicked him to the curb. And what did Steve do? Not hold her hand and talk to her like a friend might have. No, the slightest suggestion that she’d tolerate his, his… _proclivities_ , and he’d been on her like wet on water, not even stopping to count the cost. Thor’s words come back to him: _Have you treated her like a lady?_ And had he, throwing himself on his knees before her last night? Wrapping himself around her this morning, coming so hard he ripped apart her bed- and who knew what else he might have damaged had he been given the chance? Steve knows he’s no paragon, but that- _That **wasn’t** okay_. That’s not who he’s ever been, and that’s not who he wants to be in the future. There should at least have been dinner and a movie, flowers, a Valentine, anything. He should have told her how amazing she was, let her see that he was on the up and up. Then it might not seem so, so… skeevy. Perverted.

_He hears Esme’s voice in his head, telling him that perverted romantics make the best pets, but for once he hasn’t it in him to believe her._

And so he nods to Thor, showing he understands him. Wondering how he’s going to make it up to Darcy, how he can begin to explain, what he’ll have to do. He rises, going to grab his coat and belatedly realising he hasn’t brought one-

And as he does so Pepper Potts, Natasha Romanova and Darcy burst in through the door, all three women looking ready for trouble. Tiny and almost unnoticed Jane Foster walks behind, and, bless her, she’s carrying Steve’s coat. “I told you I could track anyone,” Romanova announces, sounding pleased with herself.

“You called it,” Darcy says. She hands the Widow a twenty. “And now that we’ve found them, how about giving us a little privacy?”

She leans over their table as if to make her point.

“And why should I do that, dearest Darcy?” Thor asks, his voice pleasant and suspiciously innocent and courteous. He takes a sip of his espresso and the bastard actually raises his pinkie, apparently determined to wave a red flag in front of a bull. The girls pull back, knowing a challenge when they see one, as Darcy nods to Steve. His skin tingles.

“Because, dear Thor,” she says, “You are an ass-hat. And he-” she nods to Steve- “is my business. Got it? Mine. Nobody else’s. _Mine_.”

And with that she throws Steve’s coat at him and holds her arm out. He stands as if she’d snapped “Attention!” and out of the corner of his eye he sees Thor, Tasha and Pepper exchange looks. Their expressions all variations on isn’t-that-interesting and not-going-there. But Steve can’t stay to see what else they seem to think because Darcy’s already stalking out the door, all but dragging him with her-

“You, Steve, are an idiot,” she says as she pulls it shut behind them.

And then she presses him back against the wall and kisses him so hard they both nearly pass out. 


	10. Chapter Ten: Distractions

_Disclaimer_ : This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER TEN: DISTRACTIONS**

Eventually they both have to come up for air.

Steve pulls away from Darcy, the separation causing an audible pop! Which makes both of them giggle and blush like a couple of kids. The feel of his body beneath her hands sending all sorts of contradictory, shaky, shivery things through Darcy, her own body reacting to him in ways she’s not entirely comfortable with. She hasn’t been this, this _excited_ about a person she’s been with for a long time; It’s like she’s starting something over, maybe, or finding something she’s been looking for. _And now she’s found it she’s not entirely sure what to do with it_. See, the thing about Brett and her asshole coterie of exes is that you know what you’re getting with a dickhead: You don’t expect it to last, you just hope you have a few laughs and the sex is okay. But this thing with Steve, even Steve himself? This is… _different._  
It was so different that this afternoon, when she watched Thor hustle her honey our of the Avengers’ Tower, she’d gotten so mad at her Asgardian big brother that she’d basically demanded Tasha help her track him and Rogers down.

And Darcy’s not like that. She doesn’t do possessive, she doesn’t do the girlfriend thing. And she certainly doesn’t do it for a guy she barely knows who likes her to tie him up while she has her wicked way with him. _And yet_ \- She looks up at him through her lashes to see him breathing hard. One big, strong hand has wound through her hair and he’s cradling her head, stroking the back of her skull as he lays his forehead against hers. She can taste his breath against her lips, feel his heart battering against her palm where it’s found its way up his chest. He feels big and good and strong and different, but he doesn’t feel like a stranger. He feels like something she never knew to ask for. He feels like a gift. _But that’s **nuts**_. And he probably thinks she’s a slut, she tries to tell herself, what with her throwing herself at him when she’d literally just broken up with her boyfriend-

But when he looks down at her and presses a kiss against her cheek, her nose, he doesn’t look like he’s disappointed in her. Far from it.

No, when he kisses her he smiles, his eyes closed, and he looks… He looks peaceful.

That flip-slopping feeling in her belly’s there again, and Darcy hasn’t a single idea of what to do about it.

But apparently Steve does, because he reaches down and kisses her mouth again, more sweetly, more gently than Darcy ever thought she could be kissed. His other hand comes down to trace her palm, and then he takes her hand and squeezes it tight. Takes her arms and puts them around his waist.

_He really does get off on being held tight_ , she thinks.

“Hey,” she murmurs, and again she feels her face breaking out in a smile without her really giving it clearance.

Steve grins back at her and Darcy finds that she doesn’t really mind.

“Hey,” he answers. “Thanks for bringing the cavalry, ma’am.”

She shakes her head. _Doofus_. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you were holding your own, soldier.”

Now it’s his turn to shake his head. “Wouldn’t be so sure about it,” he says. “Thor’s scary when he’s being big brotherly.”

Darcy snorts. “I believe it: You should see him around Jane. I swear, they actually succeed in cooking up a little Midgard/Asgard Offspring the poor kid’ll never see daylight. Thor’ll have it home-schooled, and the only humans it ever meets will be the Avengers.”

Something moves through Steve’s expression, something she doesn’t recognise. “There’s nothing wrong in wanting to protect someone you love,” he says quietly.

“There is when your idea of protection wraps ’em up in so much cotton wool they can’t breathe,” she retorts. “But c’mon, let’s go back to your place- There’s a lot we can do with a free afternoon, soldier-”

And she tries to pull him by the hand. But for the first time since last night Steve refuses to come with her. _And towing along Captain America? Not exactly a plan._

She actually pouts but Steve doesn’t seem to notice: He’s too engrossed in staring at their joined hands. “Darcy,” he says and instantly she freezes. She recognises that tone: It’s almost always followed by that immortal, relationship-killing phrase, _We have to talk_. “Darcy, about last night…”

She tries to force herself not to tense up. She is ridiculously unsuccessful in that endeavour. “What about it?”

He’s worrying his lip and if he wasn’t about to kick her to the curb it would be adorable. “I’m- I’m sorry. I should have… I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you when you’d just broken up with your guy.”

Darcy can’t help it. She snorts in laughter. “My guy? You thought Brett was my guy?”

He’s looking at her weirdly. “You were dating him for six months.”

“You were in Europe for eight months: Were you there on vacation?”

He frowns. “No. But that wasn’t really my choice.”

“And Brett wasn’t mine.”

The frown gets frownier. “But you were dating him. Why would you do that if you didn’t like him?”

She shrugs. Somehow this conversation has gotten really uncomfortable really quick. _And as always when she’s feeling uncomfortable, Darcy decides that the best defence is a good offence._ “Why I did it isn’t important: A girl has needs, let’s leave it at that.” And she winks, cocks her hip out. Gives him her best, brassiest grin. “And as for you taking advantage of me,” she continues blithely, “Ken could sooner take advantage of Barbie-”

For some reason his face twists in pain and Darcy gets the uncomfortable feeling that he got _that_ reference. Just as she gets the uncomfortable feeling that he was hurt by it. “Well, I suppose that’s all I am to you,” he mutters. “Uncle Sam’s made-up man, a real-life Ken doll-”

He tries to pull away and despite the fact that every adult instinct in her tells her this is a good thing she finds she can’t let go of him. Just like last night they’re tied together, but the tie’s invisible now. He takes two steps and Darcy gets in front of him.

She’s not sure why but she knows she’ll regret it if he goes.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “That’s- You’re not-” she sighs, blows the hair out of her eyes. _She feels like such a bitch_. “You’re not a Ken doll,” she says finally. “Or a made-up man. I just… I guess I’m not exactly proud of Brett. Or Jeremy. Or Rico. Or Dash. Or J-Fez. Or Linc-”

“I get the point.” But his face is still all frowny. She reaches up and strokes his cheek, trying to get him to unclench, but he doesn’t. Instead his free hand strays down to her lips and he touches them softly, fingers stroking down to her throat, across her clavicle, thumb snaking gently across the very top of her breasts. Instantly she tenses up and Steve frowns, stalling. Darcy knows letting him feel her up will probably be enough to make this… whatever-it-is go away though, and so she takes his hand in hers, arching her back slightly so that her breast is more easily within his reach. But Steve shakes his head, moves his hand away. As if trying to take the sting out of his rejection he presses a light kiss to her forehead.

“You don’t like that, ma’am,” he murmurs softly.

She gives a frustrated little whine. “Course I do. Rack like this, I’d have to be nuts not to take advantage-”

He kisses her lips this time. _It is, she has to admit, an excellent way to shut her up._ “Taking advantage is the one thing I’ll never do to you,” he says. “Don’t ask me to. And don’t pretend that it’s what you want either.”

Darcy doesn’t understand. “But why? Don’t you like the puppies?” She tries for a joking tone, but it comes out pained and she’s not really sure why. _Well, maybe she suspects but she’s not Goddamn saying it in front of a guy she barely knows._ “C’mon, Steve,” she says, “It’ll be fun-”

He shakes his head. His expression’s turning mulish. “You tensed up last night when you took off your bra: I noticed, that’s why I-”

“That’s why you didn’t stare at them.” Something clicks inside her head. “That’s why you held eye-contact.” **_Wow_**.

_Darcy wasn’t aware they still made men like that._

He nods. “They’re beautiful. _You’re_ beautiful. But I’m not spending my time on something that makes you uncomfortable, and you don’t get to get out of an argument by waving them under my nose.”

“It wasn’t your nose I was waving them at,” she mutters.

For the first time the ghost of a smile moves across Steve’s face. “I know, it was my feet you were trying to influence.”

“And what big, beautiful feet they are, soldier.”

This time his smile is broader, and he looks like Steve again. Despite herself Darcy smiles. “Between the two of us there’s more that’s beautiful and big,” he points out. And he drops his gaze deliberately down to her chest, his hand tightening on hers. It must belatedly occur to him that he might not have been talking about her breasts there because he blushes to the roots of his hair. But though he looks embarrassed he doesn’t move away.

_It’s absolutely frickin’ adorable._

The silence stretches out between them then, hot and jittery, but despite their obvious discomfort neither breaks it. “Look, I’m not looking for an argument,” he says eventually. “And I get it- I know I’m not as worldly or cool as the guys you’re used to-”

She can’t help herself. “You’re cooler.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you’re trying to distract me with your womanly wiles.”

“You saying you don’t have manly wiles, soldier?” And her hand sneaks up to squeeze his bicep. “What do you call these then?”

Instantly he freezes and just for a second- Just for a second she sees his discomfort, sees the mirror of her own reaction just moments before. That sense of anger and helplessness about something you’re not supposed to resent. And just as it had last night when she handed him her belt she feels it coming together for her. Instinct and intuition merging to let her know what the man before her needs. _It’s like she has a super-power where he’s concerned._

Because his words come back to her- _Uncle Sam’s made-up man_ \- and she realises why her words hurt him. Realises what he heard when she made her cruel little joke. _Boy oh boy, does she_. Because Darcy understands what it feels like to be treated as a great rack and nothing else- To be a thing nobody’s interested in, just a body with a person incidentally attached- And as the realisation comes, something else comes with it. **_Protectiveness._** Which is a new feeling for Darcy, especially when it comes to a man three times her size. But be that as it may, there’s no way she’ll let Steve think that’s what this is about for her, any more than she’d harm him after what they shared last night. Her words to Thor come back to her: _He’s my business_. She meant it.

_And if he’s her business then she doesn’t get to hurt him just cuz she’s feeling out of her depth and stressed._

In that instant, Darcy realises she’s going to have to man up- Metaphorically speaking. Steve must read her expression because some of his worry eases. He raises his eyebrows in question at her and she nods, a plan forming in her head. She twines the fingers of the hand he’s holding together until they‘re palm to palm, her gaze never leaving his. Just as it had last night the tension stretches out, tense and shivering as a whip. “You need to come home with me now, soldier,” she says, and she’s beginning to recognise her voice when it goes to that place for him. It gets deeper, huskier, more aroused.

_Because that’s what he brings out in her._

“Thought you said next time we should demolish my place?” he murmurs.

_Ah, the headrest; She should have known he’d remember_. “You ready to have me bunk over then, soldier?” she murmurs.

She’s raised herself up onto tiptoe, is whispering it in his ear.

He gulps. Nods. _It’s kinda awesome._ “Always, ma’am.” Again he swallows. “Been ready for you all my life.” And with that he reaches down and very slowly, very gently kisses her. It feels like heaven.

She can feel him practically vibrating again and she gets a heady little high from knowing that she’s the cause.

So they call a cab- because whatever about a G-Woman’s pay-cheque, an Avengers one will apparently cover it- and they set off for Steve’s place. Their hands still entwined. Their evening apparently clear. Once he lets her in and heads off to get food Darcy wanders through his place- it’s massive- not knowing precisely what she’s looking for. There’s at least five things she knows she could use on him in her apartment, but here she’s at a loss. And then she comes upon the gym, and the hook for holding up his punching bags. A slow smile spreads across her face as she realises what she’s going to do-

By the time Steve gets home with Chinese takeout she’s already managed to clear away the bags and set up everything she needs.

He walks in to find her holding out the belt of his Captain America uniform and a bucket of soapy water and both food and their argument are immediately-completely- deliciously- dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not individually thanking those who reviewed, but my internet access is very curtailed at the moment. But thanks go to inkandash, pyrzqxgl, katertots, notashamed, blackglass and sanemoments for their reviews. Happy easter guys, and to anyone who reads. 
> 
> hobbits away, hey!


	11. Chapter Eleven: Tease

_Disclaimer_ : This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: TEASE**

In the end, the belt of his Cap uniform turns out to be useless.

It’s too chunky to bind his hands with, the metal of the different compartments digging sharply into Steve’s wrists. He’s eager enough that he’ll try it but Darcy isn’t; She murmurs something about his safety and then presses two kisses to his wrists, the gesture surprisingly sweet when it comes from her. The kisses burning slightly against Steve’s skin. For a moment he’s nonplussed, not sure what he can do now that part of her plan is a wash; He supposes he should just be happy that she thought of him, that she’s willing to work him through his… _kink_. But he obviously underestimates her, for Darcy’s chutzpah is made from sterner stuff than that. As he watches she sidles closer until she’s pressed right against him, her breasts flush against his chest. Her legs pressed against his as she steps onto his feet.

“Step back, soldier,” she murmurs, her voice soft and low down and smoky.

Steve stumbles a couple of steps backwards, only halting when she tugs on his sleeve.

“Here’s really, really good,” she says, looking at him through lowered lashes. _Jesus, she looks sinful_. She chucks her chin up, indicating he look towards the ceiling; Steve does as he’s told and realises he’s standing directly under his punching bag’s hook. His eyes must widen- _he hadn’t realised she’d planned this far ahead_ \- and he hears her give a low, throaty chuckle.

“Better than mistletoe, soldier,” she mutters, and Steve finds he has to agree.

Keeping steady eye contact she gazes at him then, her small hands reaching out and tugging at his leather pants belt. Sliding it free, this devilish, smoky grin on her face, her small, delicate nails scratching lightly at the skin underneath his shirt and marking the small of his back. Steve gasps at the sensation and her grin widens, hands slowly pulling the belt loose. She twines it between her hands and stretches it, stepping off his feet, turning her back to him as she picks up the bucket of soapy water and pulls it back towards his place beneath the punching-bag’s hanging hook. Still maintaining eye contact she flattens one palm against his chest, the small, warm weight of it making his cock twitch. She presses the heel of her palm into his flesh and drags it downwards, down past his abdominals, his belly, down to press, hard and warm, against his groin- _And his cock does more than twitch_.

Steve groans and she smiles, reaching out for the buttons of his check shirt. She opens them slowly, torturously, folding the shirt back from his chest and shoulders as if she’s opening a book. She presses it down his shoulders and lets it fall at his feet; her small hands tug his t-shirt and undershirt up, the white fabric bunching in her hands. As soon as he’s free of it she drops it unceremoniously into the bucket of soapy water beside her. Steve opens his mouth to protest but she silences him with a kiss. One for his mouth, two for his eyelids. And then a stinging, hungry one as she takes his nipple between her teeth and tugs. Sucks.

“Do you trust me, soldier?” she mutters against his chest. “Do you?”

His heartbeat’s hammering but he nods. Meets her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.” He has to take a deep breath, he’s running out of oxygen. “I do. I really, really do.”

And suddenly her grin turns bright. Gorgeous. She grabs his left wrist and loops the belt around it, pulling it tight but with just enough give to not cut off his pulse. She kisses him again, her tongue sliding against his. It’s sweet and tart and almost bitter, just like her, and it ties Steve’s stomach into knots. And then she takes the belt and tosses the non-secured end upwards. It loops through the punch bag hook, the spare end hanging down on its other side and that she loops around Steve’s other wrist. She pulls the belt and he’s forced onto his tiptoes, his whole body stretching in order to stay upright; She ties the belt in a quick knot which she again makes sure is not too tight. Again he feels the press of her lips against his chest, again he feels the sting of that biting, tugging kiss at his nipple. His spine feels like it’s stretching, his entire body taut.

“Can you stay like that for me, soldier?” she whispers.

She’s buried her face in his chest.

He tugs experimentally but neither hook nor belt give an inch and he feels that same peacefulness settle into his bones. For something which should be so uncomfortable it feels so… restful. It feels like the most right thing in the world. “Yes ma’am, I can,” he tells her.

He feels her smile widen against his skin.

“Good.” She seems to breathe him in. “You can’t and you tell me- You got that?” Her mouth has started sliding down towards his belly. “I don’t wanna hurt you…”

Again he feels a twist of something he doesn’t want to think about. His voice comes out a little sharper than he intended. “You can’t hurt me, ma’am,” he mutters, “I’m Captain frickin’ America-”

She takes his chin and forces his face down to look at her, blue eyes suddenly grave. “Of course I can hurt you, Steve,” she murmurs softly. A frown mars her features. “I just never, ever want to try.” She seems nervous for the first time, and that voice inside his head that Steve’s learning to recognise as his predilection snaps at him to fix it. Snaps at him to make everything okay-  _But he’s honestly not sure how he can_. “If it hurts, Darcy,” he says instead, “I’ll tell you. Don’t worry- I know my limits. If something isn’t right I’ll tell you good and loud.”

Some of the worry seems to go out of her. “You promise me, Steve?” she murmurs. She’s gone back to licking and kissing his navel but he can still see the tension in her spine.

“I promise,” he murmurs, and it’s not only his position that makes his throat tight.

A wickedness moves into her gaze then, his assurance apparently enough for her. “I was hoping you’d say that, soldier,” she mutters, her hands reaching up to scrape the small of his back again. He feels her nails dig in and he can’t stop the hiss of pleasure he gives. She grins wickedly and tugs at his pants, exposing his hips, his belly. The hard, long length of his cock. Darcy’s lips are delicate on him, nuzzling into the hair at the base of his penis. She licks and kisses gently along his prick’s length, her fingers playing with his balls.

“I’ve got such plan for you, soldier,” she’s murmuring, the vibration of her voice and breath along his length making his hips jerk uncontrollably. “Such terrible, wicked plans I have for you- Now I’ve got you all to myself.” And she grins against his length, taking the very tip of his cock into her mouth, sucking it. One hand remains on his stones but the other has trailed up his thigh, the nails stroking gently to trace his perineum, the crack of his ass. Her fingers sliding higher to find another, puckered place there. Excitement building in Steve as she does it though why he cannot say. Again he feels her smile widen against his skin but she moves that hand away, goes back to caressing his thighs. His calves. His knees.

“Maybe another day,” she murmurs, and there’s longing in her tone.

“But soon though..?” he can hear his own question, his arousal matching hers.

“Oh, very, very soon,” she murmurs. “Very, very soon.”

And with that she stands up, moves away from him. Now that she’s got him completely hard, now that he’s practically aching for her, now she decides to bring a halt to their play. _Jesus H. Christ._ She walks over to the workbench at the back of the gym and shrugs off her shirt and jacket, leaving her only in vest and slacks. As Steve watches she pulls her hair back into a ponytail, unhurriedly slips her shoes and socks off and then pads barefoot back to him. By this time he’s so hard he’s practically shaking; If he were the kind of man who growls he’d be growling by now.

“Frustrated, soldier?” she asks and her tone is smugness personified.

Steve can’t help himself, he has to say it. “I’m hard as a Goddamn steel bar, ma’am: What do you think?”

“I think you should have showered this morning, is what I think, soldier.”

And she bends over the bucket of soapy water, picking up his vest and t-shirt. Makes a show of wringing them out tightly, the water sloshing back into the suds. “I think that maybe you need to cool down a little,” she softly says. “Maybe that will improve your temperament.” And she stands, the dripping shirts hanging from her hands, and pushes her knee between Steve’s legs. It feels amazing, the pressure of her leg pressing against his cock. He closes his eyes, the pleasure getting to him. For a moment he can’t even keep his feet on the ground and his body swings free. But then his toes find purchase, his movement ceasing. Darcy’s grabbed him around the waist, managed to halt his fall. He opens his mouth to thank her but before he can do she brings the sodden t-shirt against his body. The slightly chilled, wet fabric makes contact with his heated, sweating skin and all Steve can do is gasp.

“That’s my good soldier,” he hears Darcy say. He can’t even find the words to agree with her.

“Oh,” she croons, “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

And she gives a throaty chuckle, even as he feels the cloth move over him. Up and around by his shoulders it goes. Down his back, down his legs, water running in rivulets through the gaps between his toes, the dip of his shoulder-blades, the valley between the cheeks of his ass. And all the while Darcy’s knee keeps up its slow, tortuous pace against his cock. Teasing him. Taunting him. Making him hard for her. Her control as total as Steve’s is slipping, her body the only reality with which he’s willing to deal. Dip and wring, press and slide. The t-shirt soaps his entire body, the soft cloth even stealing down to wash his straining, hardened cock. The texture of softness enough to nearly make him come then and there. And through it all he hears Darcy murmuring to him. Telling him what she wants from him. Telling him how good he feels under her hands, how perfect he’s being for her. Steve knows that this is… well, this is pretty kinky. He might be a perverted romantic, but this is pretty wild and not only to him. But he hasn’t it in him to care. _He just… doesn’t._

_His trust in his girl is total and there’s no way he’s going to bring that to a halt._

And so he lets her tease him to orgasm, comes with a force he hadn’t known he possessed. The feel of it shattering, even after all his months of frustration, even after finding release not once but twice in the last 24 hours. He feels Darcy hold him to her chest through it, looks down to see his cum staining her camisole. The sight of it, wet and sticky against her breasts, does something to him he hasn’t the words to explain. And then she’s cutting him down, his body hanging too loosely for her to get the belt off any other way. Without thinking he pulls her tight against him, holding her so strongly that for a moment he can’t breath.

They collapse to the floor that way.

“Steve,” he hears her mutter, “Um, Steve, oxygen becoming an issue…”

He immediately loosens his hold on her, presses a kiss against the top of her head. “That was…” he hasn’t the words to say what that was.

“Awesome?” she asks him. He can hear the smile in her voice. “Amazing? So unbelievably dirty that we’ll both have to accept we’re going to Hell?”  
“Perfect.” _That’s_ the words he’s looking for. _Perfect._

_If something involves Darcy it can’t be anything else._

Red stains Darcy’s face and suddenly she’s fascinated with her shoes. Her arms cross her chest in the gesture he’s starting to learn is discomfort for her, embarrassment making her uncharacteristically quiet. Steve’s not sure what to do but he doesn’t want her uncomfortable; Instead he reaches down and presses a quiet kiss to her cheek. Cuddles her a little tighter against his chest, there where he’s put her between his knees. She turns slightly until she’s pressed against his heart. It’s so peaceful.

“Too much?” he mutters. Sometimes he gets carried away a little. 

She looks slightly mortified. “Kinda.”

“I’m just telling the truth, you know.” And again he presses a kiss to her hair.

She tries for a cocky grin but it comes out shy. “So says you,” she mutters. “I just- I guess I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect how I feel when we do what we do.” She murmurs the next bit. “I like it. I’m not- I’m not sure I wanna know why, but I like it.” She blinks up at him. "I guess that makes us both pervs."

For a moment Steve’s at a loss, that voice inside him which has thus far negotiated all his dealings with Darcy falling silent. Apparently his kink’s not really sure how to deal with this, and it’s making its ignorance known. _Because if she's a perv too then he really is one; There's no way around it, this is who he **is**._ But then he thinks about what she’s done for him, what she might want. What she might be thinking of. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t know but he’s willing at least to find out- It's the least he can do, to give his girl that. And with that in mind he manages to make his knees work again and scoops her up, carrying her towards his bathroom. He's grinning as he goes it because he wants to set her at her ease. 

“Where are we going, Steve?” she asks, her eyes wide.

Steve can’t help how his smile widens. “You took care of me, ma’am,” he says diffidently. “Now it’s time for me to take care of you.”

And with that, the absolutely, romantically  _filthy_ portion of the evening commences-

Turns out Darcy's not the only one can improvise- _Nor is she the only one who knows her way around a bucketful of suds._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my internet time is limited so I've only had a chance to put this up. But thanks for their reviews go to blackglass, katertots, tone, notashamed and inkandash for their reviews: I will be able to answer you individually soon.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Dirty

_Disclaimer_ : This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER TWELVE: DIRTY**

It’s a strange thing to recount, but Steve’s earliest memory is of a bath-tub.

He couldn’t have been more than five or six, and his mom had been terrified to leave him alone in it. She’d asked him to make noise- _never a problem_ \- while she went outside to stoke up the fire and make sure the house was warm enough for her sickly little boy to be dried in. Steve can remember the exact sound of her humming, the weird, stark stench of the kerosene lamp she used. He can remember the smell of frying eggs- _she must have been worried about him to use that amount of oil with money so tight_ \- and the way the pan hissed and spit. But none of it really seemed to matter, because he was in the tub, a thimbleful of the ocean as his ma was fond of saying, and as far as he was concerned he was a pirate. Or maybe a jellyfish. Or maybe a sailor, like Uncle Seamus back in Dublin, or like Bobby Dumasco from down the hall. In the water, he could be anybody. In the water, he could be anything.

_And in the water he always knew that somebody loved him. Cared about him. Wanted to take care of him._

He’s never forgotten that feeling of being held in the arms of an ocean, and not even the plummet into darkness in the Valkyrie could take that away.

And maybe that’s why he runs the bath for Darcy, he thinks now. Maybe that’s why he lays her on his bed and wraps her in the coverlet. Presses a kiss to her forehead and then pads out to fill the tub. Because he wants her to know he’ll take care of her. He wants her to understand that what they do together has… meaning, beyond pleasure and fun for the night. But more than anything else he wants her to know that he won’t take advantage. That just because in the last 24 hours it’s Darcy’s who’s been doing the heavy lifting, Darcy who’s been licking and sucking and scheming about giving him pleasure, that doesn’t mean that she won’t get anything back. He’s starting to accept that she likes what they do together; If she hadn’t wanted to continue then that little scene back in his gym wouldn’t have occurred at all. _Lord, she wouldn’t even have come up with it_. But that doesn’t mean that he gets a free pass, Steve knows that.

Thor said to treat her like a lady and that’s precisely what he intends to do.

_And a lady is treated with kindness and respect after she works so hard to give her soldier what he wants._

She looks up at him through her lashes as he walks in then, that cheeky, mischievous grin splitting her face. She appears to be recovering from their last bout because she’s trying to sit up, looking around. She wriggling out of the coverlet- “I’m grossing up your sheets, soldier, you shoulda come somewhere else-” but he stills her with a hand on her shoulder. Stares at her and shakes his head, pressing her gently onto her back on the bed. “Not what you want?” she all but murmurs, her lashes fanning her cheeks now. Her eyes have turned practically navy, a darkness Steve now recognises as arousal clouding their depths. A grin tugs at her mouth. “You wanna dirty me up some more?”

The tone’s playful but it sends a cold shiver through Steve. _What they do together isn’t dirty; He may not know much but he knows **that**._ She frowns at his reaction and reaches out to touch his cheek. He covers her smaller hand with his larger one, feels the delicate bones of it in his grip. “Hey, hey, hey,” she says softly, “What’d my big mouth land us in this time?”

He shakes his head. “Your big mouth didn’t land us into anything, Darcy. I just…” He blows out a breath. “You’re not dirty,” he says softly. “We’re- this- it isn’t dirty.”

He presses another kiss onto her forehead. “Do you understand that?”

And he pulls the hand at his cheek down to kiss her knuckles, not sure he’s saying this right.

_He suspects he still has no bloody idea how to talk to women and he doesn’t want that to get in the way._

But Darcy’s still frowning. “Steve- It’s okay. You don’t have to soft-pedal this.” She reaches out to brush the hair out of his eyes. “We’ve only been making the beast with two backs a whole-” she makes a show of checking her watch- “26 hours, there’s no need to start spouting poetry and treating me like I’m some little princess.”

He can’t hide his disbelieving look. “You are a princess.”

“Fuck off!” she laughs, and despite the fact that he knows he should be shocked by the profanity isn’t. Instead he has to laugh.

“Honest to goodness,” he says, holding up two fingers in the traditional scouts’ honour pose. _Not that he was ever healthy enough as a kid to be a boy scout._ “Thor told me- you’re his extended family now. You’re minor Asgardian royalty.” He presses a kiss to her cheek, murmurs the next part. He doesn’t want to yell it.  
“And even if you weren’t, you’d still deserve to be treated well.”

But she’s starting to wriggle now. Something he’s said has upset her. “Look Steve,” she begins, and innocent though he may be Steve knows her tone bodes no good, “I think maybe I should leave. This is- You’re getting ridiculous. The sex is good, and being in charge is great, but you’re talking like- like-”

He supplies the ending of that sentence. “Like it means something?”

And he knows it doesn’t, not to her.

_At least, not yet._

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, like it means something. And this can’t- I don’t do stuff like that. I’m not sweet little girlfriend material, I’m too crazy a bitch to pull it off. ”

A year ago- _or 7 decades ago, depending on how you think about it_ \- Steve would have been so frightened of getting hurt that he’d have backed away from her immediately at those words. If he’d pursued this at all, it would have been from the point of view of having taken advantage and wanting to make amends. But that was before Rebirth and the Valkyrie and losing Peggy. That was before watching a horde of honest-to-goodness aliens try to take over New York. That was before the Norse God of Thunder say him down to have a little, brotherly chat and he told him to mind his own business. _That was before_. And though he knows that Thor managed to make him feel guilty about not taking more care over Brett The Boyfriend’s dismissal, he accepts that it was Darcy’s right to make that call. He accepts that she told him the truth about not being all that broken up about being newly single. He accepts that she likes giving him orders and he damn well likes taking them.

But what he won’t accept is that she can’t be treated well, and tenderly, after a bout of making him so damn happy she nearly blew _both_ his heads off.

_And if that has to be their first argument then so be it, because the idea that she’s a “crazy bitch,” who doesn’t deserve it just ain’t holding any water with him._

He looks at her then, crossing his arms sternly. He can see her relax a little as he reacts with what she has obviously assumed to be pique. “Darcy,” he says, and there’s no soldier or ma’am between them now, “How often have you taken my cock into your mouth and sucked me off in the last 26 hours?”

He nearly stumbles over the swear words but he manages to say them straight.

_It occurs to him, somewhat randomly, that Esme would be **so** proud of him. _

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Twice,” she bites out tartly. A glower as she crosses her own arms. “You came the first time all on your own.”

He nods. “I did. Just the taste of you was enough to- to-” Again he has to force himself to say it- “To get me off. The feel of you against my mouth was enough that I came in my shorts. But then I’d been dreaming about it for so long before it happened that I’m surprised I didn’t try to get you naked the first time you handed me your belt.” He grimaces.

“And that’s not a report I want the Transit Authority to have to make.”

Her eyes widen. Good, maybe he’s actually shocked her a little.

_Maybe now she can stop trying to protect herself so damn much._

“And when you looked up at me with that camisole on-” he continues, stroking out his thumb to her ruined vest, spattered with his ejaculate- “If I’d had it in me I swear I’d have come again. The memory of it’s going to- to- to make me hard for weeks.” He sees her eyes widen some more. “Because that’s what you do to me. You make me so damn happy… And not just because you have the most awesome mouth, or breasts, or hands in the world. And not because you have come up with a use for that punching-bag hook that I defy anyone else to think of in a hundred years. You make me happy because you’re _you_. And it’s because you’re you that I want to give something back. I want to treat you as well as you’ve treated me. I want… I want to be kind to you, don’t you get that?”

He sighs. Runs his hand lightly against her collar bone.

She’s staring at him as if she can’t decide whether to bolt or stay.

“But if you don’t see how you deserve that then- Then you might not be a bitch but I’ll hazard a guess that you are a little crazy, ma’am.” He reaches out and kisses her cheek, aware it might be for the last time.

“And not crazy in the way you’re always saying. Crazy for real.”

Darcy closes her mouth with an audible snap.

For a moment she just stares at him, apparently unable to speak. A first, Steve’s sure, in the history of the universe though whether it’s a good thing or not he can’t really guess. And then slowly, very slowly, Darcy lets the coverlet fall down around her. Still maintaining eye contact she holds her arms aloft and, finally understanding, Steve reaches up to pull off her ruined top. It comes easily, some nondescript white bra underneath it. Still holding eye-contact Steve reaches for it and she doesn’t stop him as he unclasps the back. The bra comes loose and her breasts fall free but he doesn’t really look at them. His hands are aching to touch them, it’s true, but she doesn’t like that as much as she might do and if this is about her then he’s not going to go there.

So, softly, he unwraps her from the coverlet like she’s a Christmas present. Laying her down on her back and slowly opening her pants. Pulling them off. Trailing kisses up her thigh- _she likes that_ \- his fingers caressing her feet- _She likes that too_. He watches her the entire time he does it, taking his cue from what her eyes tell him. He hadn’t realised it was possible to have a conversation without speaking but apparently it is. When she doesn’t object he kisses her navel, the scent of her arousal making his mouth dry. Her hands go to his hair again and he sighs in contentment, letting her dig her fingers in. But this time he knows they won’t stay there, this time he knows it will about what he can give her.

_This time he knows she’ll come saying his name and the thought makes him so damn hard._

And so, now that they’re both naked he scoops her up and heads into the bathroom. The tub’s full and they’ve been talking so long that the water has lost its piping hot edge. Perfect. When Agent Hill first showed him the place he didn’t understand the changes the realtor had made: Why would you need low lights in the bathroom, when there was a danger you could fall asleep and drown? But Steve understands now. _Oh Lord, does he_. Everything in this room is here for the express purpose of treating Darcy Lewis well. And with that thought in mind he holds her over the hot water. He raises his eyebrows in question and she nods, giving consent as he lowers her into the hot, steamy water. He watches her for signs of discomfort- did he get the temperature right? - But she gives none. Instead she gives a soft, lovely sigh that seems to come from somewhere in the region of her toes. Steve smiles and picks up his sponge, soaping it. He moves to wash her arm but she shakes her head, a tiny pout marring her features.

“What is it?” he asks softly, not sure what he’s missed out for her.

She crooks her finger and beckons him into the water, her eyes lit with something that might be glee.

“You want me in there, ma’am?” he asks her.

“Yes, Steve, I want you in here.”

He’s surprised by her use of his given name but he supposes he shouldn’t be.

“To hear is to obey, Miss Darcy,” he laughs, and joins her in the tub.

The amount of water the two of them displace means he’s going to have one heck of a wet floor tomorrow but Steve doesn’t mind. Instead he busies himself with arranging their bodies, smiling when Darcy humphs in irritation at his efforts and settles them to her liking, her smaller body against his larger one, his arms around her waist. For a moment Steve can’t see where the pleasure is in this for her, since his mouth can only reach her neck and back and his cock’s not going anywhere either. But then she takes his hand in hers and brings it slowly down her body. Her index and middle fingers settling over his, her palm pressing his down into her skin. He feels the springy hair of her pussy against his hand, feels her fingers pressing his downwards. She wriggles a little against his cock, adjusting her fingers as she does. It feels pretty damn good. And then his two digits are against her sex, inside it, its slickness obvious, the small bump of her pearl nudging against his fingertips. The moan she gives telling him the pleasure it brings. Her hips rising up to meet his hand showing how much she wants this. Heat goes through Steve as he realises what she’s doing; He doesn’t know why but this feels more intimate than anything they've done before, somehow, as if she’s sharing something that’s innately _hers_. But then, isn’t that what he wanted? For it to be about her?

_And would he change this, would he even try?_

_Of course not._ So letting her lead he begins moving his fingers in time, as she does. His right hand caressing her sex softly, his left stroking circles against her thigh. Her breath starts getting heavier, her hips moving in time with their joined fingers. He begins nibbling and kissing along her neck and shoulders, tries to keep as much attention as he can on her. And then- For a moment she freezes, as if making a decision. Again that voice in Steve’s head, his predilection, snaps at him to fix it and he opens his mouth to inquire what she needs. But then she takes his free hand and brings it up to cup her breast. She sighs as he does it, her hips returning to their earlier pace. She lies looser against him, as if she’s found some of the peace she’s given him.

“Like this?” he says in her ear, squeezing softly, and she nods to him.

“That’s just like I like it, soldier,” she murmurs. “Again. Do it again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” And he does as he’s told, works to keep his touch light. He’s heard plenty about tugging and squeezing and biting breasts over his years in the service but something tells him that’s not what’s needed here. _After all, those nipples look pretty delicate._ And if she wanted him to be rough with them he has plenty of proof she’d say. He’s proved right when Darcy lets out a keening cry, her voice turning breathless. “Just like that, soldier,” she murmurs, “Oh, just like that…It’s so fucking good.” For the first time the rhythm of their hands between her legs breaks, her hips bucking up and her legs twisting sharply. Her thighs spasming so tightly for a second he feels like their fingers will break. “Jesus,” she hisses, “You’re so fucking good at this-”

And with one last gasp her body arches, her orgasm ripping through her. Steve sees it in her eyes as they grow unfocussed, feels it in the tremors of her body as it stretches out above his. He kisses her throat and shoulders, rocks her through it. Wonders if it feels as intimate to her when she watches him come. And when she finally halts, then he wraps his arms around her. He wishes he had something to tie them together with, something to show how beautifully bound he feels. Darcy looks at him, her eyes refocusing. A blush that could rival his flushes through her and Steve finds he has to smile. “Don’t laugh at me,” she murmurs, and her voice isn’t strident. It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever heard it. _She's given him that, a gift that's part of her._

“What I just saw was too beautiful to laugh about,” he says softly, and with that he lets her curl in against his chest.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my internet time's limited but thanks for their reviews go to katertots, inkandash, blackglass, sanemoments, tone and notashamed for their reviews. I'm so glad you're all enjoying this. And now, on with the story...

_Disclaime_ r: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TROUBLE**

When Darcy wakes up the next morning, the first thing she sees is Steve’s face-

_And it kinda freaks her out._

It’s not that she doesn’t like looking at Steve’s face; As faces go it’s pretty damn attractive. And it’s not like she didn’t really expect him to be there when she woke up; Steve’s never struck her as the type to sneak out of a girl’s bed after a night spent in sin. And she doubts he’d do that to her, even if it were one of his favourite habits. But given the way he looks in the early morning light, so sweet and innocent and well, Steve-like, and given the big, dumbass grin seeing him plasters across her face, Darcy can’t help the sense of dread plummeting through her stomach-

Because things like him didn’t happen to girls like her. She _knows_ this.

Idiots like Brett and low-paying jobs with no prospects happen to girls like her-

_And that’s the way she likes it._

At least, that’s what she’s always told herself. For she’s the great Darcy Lewis, wielder of the bullet-proof Armour of Cynicism, owner of the title Nobody’s Fool. And yet… When she’s with Steve, she not that person. When she’s with him can’t seem to stop smiling- _And she’s not sure she can live with so much anticipation in her life, so much hope._ That’s the shit that kills, that’s the shit that ruins you. Forget Loki or the Chitauri or even the Destroyer: Letting your guard down will get you massacred way quicker than anything else. And yet, with Steve she just plain forgets that. Every moment she spends with him feels so damn good, not indifferent or bearable or not-annoying but enjoyable and fun and right. When he looks at her, her heart really does beat faster. When he kisses her, she swears she feels it down to her toes.

And when he hands her his control, when she binds him and gives him what they both want… It doesn’t feel weird or wrong like she thinks maybe it should do.

No, it feels right. Right as rain.

_And maybe **that’s** what’s freaking her out_.

Because her whole life Darcy’s always felt like something was missing when she had sex: The only guy she ever felt completely comfortable with was Jack, her second boyfriend and the only one who ever treated her halfway decent. The only one who bothered to listen when she talked to him and had even half an interest in doing anything except getting into her pants. They lost touch after he went to college and after that… After that she kinda got used to being disappointed. The average college-age guy’s not really capable of taking care of a gerbil, she knows this, let alone an actual, full grown girlfriend. Add in the big boobs and the smart alec attitude and most of them just seemed a little intimidated by her. _Quite a few told her she a great rack but that was really it._  She knows she shouldn’t have taken it to heart, knows she should have pushed harder. Knows also that this wasn’t ever the future she imagined for herself when she was a kid. But she likes sex dammit, and if you appear to have a type then you just have to accept it if you want to get any-

Even if your type is apparently a two-faced douche-bag who’s more interested in your tits then he is in your personality, you just go along with it.

That’s what realistic people _do_.

Not Steve though. He seems kinda picky about who he chases, and for some strange reason he’s fixed his wagon to _her_ star. _Which proves, if nothing else, that the guy’s plumb crazy._ As if responding to the thought Steve shifts in his sleep: He’s so big and heavy that the weight of his arm around her waist should be stifling, but for some reason it’s really not. He frowns, his body twisting in discomfort. Darcy hears the words “Bucky,” and “my fault,” and then his grip on her turns extra tight. His breath coming quicker and shorter, worry tightening his form. Knuckles turning almost white where his fists clench, the peace of his sleep lost. Darcy turns in his arms, pulling him tighter to her and stroking her fingers through his hair. He seems to like this, because he stills though the frown remains. His head shifting from side to side as if he’s fighting some thought off. Without thinking about it Darcy reaches out and kisses his forehead, lets her left hand drift down to soothingly stroke his back. He grows quiet at her action, and she can’t help her small grin. Can’t help the way her heart shudders in her chest.

As she caresses him his eyes flutter open- _no dude should have lashes **that** long_ \- and she sees him slowly focus on her. He smiles and it’s like nothing she’s ever seen. It’s a flash of pure, unadulterated Steve. He reaches up and she expects a morning-breath laden kiss but instead he nudges her nose with his. _You know, like a doofus._ Like a big, stupid, handsome, naked… _Um, what was she thinking about again?_ Darcy tries to tell herself that she’s horrified but both her grin and the slowly creeping wetness between her legs seems to belie this. He’s placed his palm gently on her cheekbone, his fingers long enough to just catch in the hair at her nape and despite herself she finds that tense, tight hunger erupt between them just as it has so many times in the last couple of days.

“Steve,” she says, though she knows it should probably be soldier.

“Darcy,” he whispers back, and in that one moment she’s glad it’s not ma’am.

For a moment they just stare at one another, dumbstruck as two teenagers, and then- She shifts her weight so that she’s straddling him, her knees coming to rest on either side of his hips. Steve frowns at her action but she presses one finger to his lips to silence him. Takes his hands and twines her fingers through his before pulling them up above his head. She looks around for a moment and then locates her pants on the floor. Feels inside the pocket and locates the cuffs Agent Hill so foolishly gave her clearance to carry. Steve’s smiling but when he sees the cuffs it dims somewhat. He must realise his disappointment shows because he reaches his arms up higher, as if showing he’s willing to continue. But Darcy can’t pretend she’s missed it, and she’s not willing to disregard his wishes. _After all, she’s never liked it when people disregard hers_. So she reaches down to whisper in his ear- She swears he trembles when she touches him-

“Not what you wanted soldier?”- and he shakes his head, the frown returning.

“That won’t be tight enough,” he says softly, his face inches from hers.

_Oh._ “Well, I can twist your hands tighter- It’ll be easy-”

“Permission to speak freely, ma’am?” he says over her. He looks pained at interrupting but he does it anyway.

Darcy moves back. _What kind of superior officer would she be if interrupting didn’t carry consequences?_ “Permission granted, soldier,” she says sternly. “But make it worth my while.”

He twists his body again, the feel of him squirming causing the wetness between her thighs to grow. _Jesus, he feels so fucking good when he’s been forced onto his back for her._ It almost makes up for him talking back. “I- I don’t mean to overstep, ma’am,” he murmurs. “It’s just… You’re so- You’re so beautiful and I don’t…” he sighs. “I want to be able to touch you. If I can. If you’ll let me.” He stares at her through lowered lashes and Darcy knows she’s in trouble.

_He ever learns how to do that on command and she’ll be toast._

“And why should I let you do that?” she asks.

She has to tell herself her voice isn’t shaking.

Steve’s expression is grave though. His voice shakes enough for them both. “I’ll earn it if you want, ma’am,” he tells her softly. His words seems to stroke somewhere deep inside Darcy, the vibration of them makes her skin come out in goose-bumps.“I’ll do anything you ask me to do, if you just let me touch you-”

And quick as lightning he reaches up and presses a quick, gentle kiss to her mouth. His head hits his pillow again before she can stop him but it doesn’t make any difference. Because she can feel where his mouth met hers, feel the pressure and the burn of it. One little kiss shouldn’t matter so intensely, but she wishes someone would tell her skin that. _And it’s not only her skin she’s worried about: Her heart’s not exactly secure either_. But the possibilities of the situation are beginning to present themselves: He’ll do anything she wants, he says. Anything she can come up with. He wants to earn it, he says, and she knows he’s a man of his word. So she leans back, moving away from him. Plan already forming. There’s something she’s wondered about since the first time she met him and today she’ll get to find out.

“I want to see you, soldier,” she says softly, her voice dropping what sounds like an octave.

She can see the arousal it causes in him and a heady little flash of power goes through her chest.

“You’re looking at me, ma’am,” he says and he’s not acting smart, he genuinely doesn’t sound like he understands her.

Lust unlike anything Darcy’s ever felt howls through her at the notion that he genuinely doesn’t comprehend.

_Whoever knew innocence could be such a fucking turn-on?_ she thinks. _Those idiots who want a take charge guy really don’t know what they’re missing_. So she prowls- there’s no other word for it- down his body and sits on her haunches. Gestures tersely to the blanket and shifts it slightly, indicating he should take it off. Steve’s frowning but he slowly pulls the cover down. His chest, his stomach, the top of his hip exposed to her. His flesh is pale and tempting in the early morning light.

_But it’s not enough._

“I said,” she says, enunciating, “That I want to see you, soldier. All of you. Naked. Immediately.”

Her voice has turned harsh without her willing it to, and his frame quakes in approval, his own gaze turning dark.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and pulls the blanket down further. All the way past his cock and legs, all the way down to his feet. His body is big and familiar and shaking and beautiful, and it’s all hers. _Just the thought of it is enough to make her wet._ As Darcy watches he settles himself back, trying to look nonchalant. He’s pretty fucking bad at it though, since there’s nothing relaxing about this for him. His cock is already at half-mast and as she stares at it she sees it swelling. That blush he’s famous for washes down from the roots of his hair to his chest as if all the blood in his body wants to lead her that way.

“Is that what you wanted, ma’am?” he asks her and Darcy can’t help her devilish grin.

“That’s the beginning of it,” she whispers, licking her lips. She nods to his cock. “Now be a good boy and get yourself off for me.

I really, _really_ want to watch you come.”

Steve’s eyes practically bug out of his head at her words, his expression genuinely scandalised. She’s surprised, to tell the truth: She supposes a guy who gets off on being tied up would think that last order pretty tame. _But still…_ It’s one thing to have someone else show you their particular masturbatory pleasures, she supposes. It’s something else to perform openly for another person. And maybe that’s why she’s asked it, because she wants to see how much of a grip she has on him. _Maybe she wants to find out whether his willingness to surrender is total, or really just a game._ For a moment she can see he’s unwilling and she promises herself that if he’s really freaked out she won’t push him. He’s Steve, and he’s been so sweet for her, and she doesn’t want to force the guy into doing something he doesn’t want to do. But even as she’s thinking that she sees him straighten his jaw, his expression turning resolute. He shifts himself until he’s sitting up on the headrest and then takes himself in hand. The first stroke is long and slow, his hand moving smoothly as she watches. He grunts in pleasure and closes his eyes, leans his head back against the wall.

“Eyes front and centre, soldier,” she barks and immediately his gaze snaps on hers.

“Permission to speak, ma’am?” he asks again and she nods. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

And with that he begins to talk aloud. Saying her name. The things he calls her. The fantasies of her he’s been having that he never before said. Her in a toilet stall, her in an alley. Her in Fury’s chair on the Helicarrier, and he doesn’t give a toss who can see. He talks about the first day he saw her, what he wanted to do to her. What he wanted her to do to him, his strokes getting faster and faster, his hips moving as the pleasure starts to build. “So beautiful,” he keeps saying, “You’re so damn beautiful.

I want to feel you fuck me, I want to feel myself buried inside you.”

“Jesus, soldier, you know I want that too.” And she does. _Oh, how she knows she does._ Her whole body wants to feel that with him. His grip is getting tighter, his frame starting to shake. Darcy really can’t help herself, her hips roll in time against her own fingers, matching the rhythm he’s set. It should be adolescent and ridiculous, the pair of them getting themselves off, but it doesn’t feel that way. Just like last night in the bath-tub it feels like intimacy to Darcy, like they’re bound together more tightly than anyone can guess. Steve gives a hiss, snarling, his head jerking backwards. “Jesus, Mary and fucking Joseph,” he yells, “you feel so fucking good, Darce...”

And it’s as if a switch goes off inside Darcy. As if suddenly she’s the one who’s lost control. Because she drove Steven Grant Rogers to say that. She made him swear like a dock-full of sailors while he tugged and stroked his cock. _And if that isn’t perfection then she doesn’t know what is_. Before she really registers what she’s doing she’s back up the bed, the cuffs in her hands, reaching for him. She pulls his hands away from his prick with a snarl and a kiss, her weight settling over his. His hands land on her ass, his grip firm as he squeezes her. She wants him inside her so badly she can taste it and some part of her is shocked she hasn’t tried this before now- _But there’s a first time for everything._

She feels him at her entrance then, feels him widening her. He’s big but not painfully so and as he thrusts upwards she presses down, his length teasing and delicious, hot and hard and wet and wanted. Hers as much as she’s his. She keeps pressing down and as she does she feels the coarse hair of his pubis meet her own. Hears him hiss and grind upwards, his grip on her ass still so deliciously strong. His mouth finding her jaw, her earlobe. He bites down lightly and she snarls her pleasure at the pain. Their eyes meet at the sound and it’s like it was that night in the subway station. Like it’s been every single time they’ve been alone. He thrusts again but this time it’s slower. He grits his teeth as if he’s savouring it, his hands on her ass sliding up to caress her spine. Just like that the animal heat’s gone, replaced by something that looks a lot like tenderness.

_Feels a lot like tenderness too, though Darcy’s hardly an expert on that._

But still, it feels so good, to have him inside her. Feels like now she knows exactly what her limbs are for, why a human body’s built the way it is. They each lean forward, their chests pressed tightly together, their heads on one another’s shoulders. She can feel every breath he takes this way, can feel every tremble move through him. _Can feel his heart beating against hers she thinks, and for a moment it’s not such a sappy thought._ So she tightens her grip, wanting to be closer to him. His arms are about her and she never wants them to leave. Never wants to let him go. And as she thinks that something comes to her: She’s still holding the hand-cuffs. The opportunity to show Steve how much she loves this is nudging its way into her consciousness without her really realising what it is. So as he pulls her in tighter she pulls back, her nose only inches from his. He frowns, worried apparently, but she gestures with her eyes to the cuffs. A smile flashing across his face, so bright it’s actually beautiful. He nods his head once- “Please,” he says-

And then she clamps the cuffs closed on him.

She feels it then, that shudder that goes through him. Sees the peace it brings as he registers he’s bound. And then… He thrusts again, their bodies pressing tightly together. But each thrust he gives has a word attached to it, and the word is… “thank you.” _Thank you. Thank you, Darcy. Thank you ma’am._ He keeps repeating it until it’s a mantra, until it’s the only word of English she remembers. He keeps repeating it with every stroke, his body shivering against hers, his breath hissing in her ear. _Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…_ That’s all she can hear. All she wants to hear. She doesn’t care if it never ends, she’ll stay in the here and now. Orgasm comes, and she feels the swell of it drown her. It rushes over her and by the time she’s calling out his name it’s claimed Steve too. And still through she tumult she can hear his voice saying it. "Thank you. Thank you, Darcy. Thank you.

I wanted to be good for you."

By the time she’s recovered properly, Steve’s wrapped blanket awkwardly about them, his smile happy and sated.

But Darcy’s not smiling, because something tells her she’s in real trouble now.

And even as she thinks it she hears heavy footsteps coming up Steve's stairs. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Bound

_Disclaimer_ : This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: BOUND**

_Three_ _Seconds Later..._ **  
**

“Thor,” Tasha says softly, “Look who’s wearing the hand-cuffs.”

And she gestures to Steve and Darcy where they’re still tumbled together on the bed, Rogers’ large, naked frame shoved in front of his girl’s to shield her. His normally calm face wearing a more combative expression than Darcy’s ever seen. The Widow’s using the voice she normally turns on Bruce when he’s not feeling copasetic, all soothing tone and calmness. She and Clint have one of Thor’s arms each and they’re holding on, tight as they can, though if he pops Darcy knows there’ll be little they can do. _Shit._ Behind them she can see Stark, Banner and Hill peering through the door of Steve’s bedroom. Apparently S.H.I.E.L.D. builds an override into all the apartments they find for their personnel because it’s the only way she can imagine they got into Steve’s place without his opening the door.

_Though why they headed straight for the bedroom is a mystery…_

But none of that matters, at least not to Darcy. Just as she’s not terribly certain it matters to Steve. Because the thing of note at this moment is the fact that the entire Avengers team has apparently decided it’s okay to gate-crash her funsexytimes with Steve, dammit, and she’s not entirely certain how she’s going to deal with the fallout from that.

It’s one thing to have a secret like this.

It’s quite another to have it exposed in front of everyone in work.

_And it’s another thing entirely to have the Norse frickin’ God of Thunder glaring at you like he wants to rip your honey’s arms clean fucking off for daring to make the beast with two backs with one of his favouritest girls._

_Again,_ Darcy thinks, _with the shit._

Because there’s nothing in the S.H.I.E.L.D handbook covers that one, she’s certain. It seems the room shares her reaction, because the silence stretches out, everything about it tense and shaking. The newly-gathered audience apparently unsure what to say or do, afraid to really move. And then Thor hisses something in a language Darcy assumes must be Asgardian. Pulling his arms loose from Clint and Tasha’s grip, folding himself into a hulking, angry stance at the foot of Steve’s bed.

“You will leave us,” he announces to the room in general, for once sounding like royalty.

Darcy feels Tasha’s hand touch her shoulder. “I believe I will stay here,” the Widow says. “If Steve and Darcy agree.”

Thor turns to look at his team-mate, opens his mouth to object to it. But before he can Darcy speaks over him, following her instincts. _There’s no way she’s letting him throw a tantrum about this, and there’s no way she’s having him alone with Steve in the mood he’s in._ “Nuh-uh,” she tells him. “You’re not leaving us alone without witnesses, Thor. Screw that, Tasha stays.”

And she folds her arms crossly, painfully aware of how difficult it is to be authorative when you’re buck naked. She’s only grateful Steve’s massive shoulders are keeping everyone from setting a really good look at her tits. With a terse nod she gestures to the open door and Tasha makes to close it. Indicates to everyone else that they need to troop out. Clint throws his partner a significant look as she does so but he says not a word, just closes the door behind him. Footsteps sound as people pad away, voices a low murmur before going entirely. And then Darcy and Tasha both turn their attention to Thor, their eyebrows raised in matching defiance. Without her really willing it to Darcy’s hand has reached down to stroke soothingly at the small of Steve’s back, the instinct to show she’s not mad at _him_ apparently overriding all else.

 _Oh yeah,_ Darcy thinks, mentally shaking her head. _I’m in trouble alright._

His big, warm hand reaches around to pull that arm around his waist and it occurs to Darcy that trouble’s not necessarily a terrible place to be.

“Explain,” Thor says then, his voice terse and booming. “And be aware that if any advantage has been taken here then you and I will have more than words, Steven.”

Steve bristles at that. “What we do isn’t any of your business,” he snaps. “And I don’t appreciate you treating Darcy like she’s done something wrong just because she’s sleeping with a guy you don’t think’s good enough for her.” His grip on her waist tightens and despite herself she smiles. _Trust Steve to make this about protecting **her**_. “Just like I don’t appreciate the entire team trouping into my home without so much as a by-your-leave,” he continues. “I’ll be having a word with Stark about how we can prevent that in the future. Besides, what on Earth are you doing here?”

Tasha speaks over the Asgardian before he can answer. “Loki’s gotten loose and there’s speculation he’s on Midgard,” she says. “The Norns have sent a group of Valkyries to pick him up but they can’t seem to find him anywhere.”

Steve and Darcy turn matching, disbelievingly accusing looks on Thor. “That’s happened and you’re snapping at my honey?” Darcy demands.

For the first time some sheepishness enters Thor’s expression. “Your safety seems more important at this moment, Darcy.” His expression turns mulish as it returns to Steve. “I had warned Rogers before-”

“Warned him about what?” For a the first time true rage starts to build in Darcy. It’s one thing for Thor to get his hammer in a twist and have a quiet word with her, but dragging the team into this, with The Mullet of Doom on the loose? _So not cool._ Without thinking about it she stalks out of the bed, no longer caring she’s naked. Steals up to Thor, her face set to glower, and begins poking him sharply in the chest.

“Let me break this down for you, Thor dear,” she snaps, “Since apparently you didn’t get the message this afternoon. It won’t take long and I’ll use lots of small words so this time you’ll understand. He-” she gestures sharply to Steve- “Is my honey. He’s my- my- well, I’m sure there’s a technical term for a guy who gets off on being tied up and screwed senseless, and I’m sure once this is over I’ll get to wikipedia and find out what it is. But the important word in that sentence is _mine_. You got that? MINE. You have no say in this, you have no part in it and you sure as Hell don’t get to object.

Now are we fucking clear about that, Viking Ken, or do I have to call Jane and get her to translate?”

And with that she stalks back to the bed and wraps her arms back around Steve. Rogers winces at her words, nuzzling into her and murmuring something soothing she can’t quite make out. Darcy presses a quick kiss to his mouth though and then reaches into her pants pocket, finding the key, opening the cuffs. Tossing them mutinously on the floor at Thor’s feet. Tasha gives a snort which sounds suspiciously like a laugh and the Asgardian’s eyes widen, his gaze flicking between Darcy and Steve. She can practically see the moment the proverbial penny drops. “Wait, you do the tying?” he asks, and his voice sounds somewhere between relieved and incredulous.

Steve nods. “Yeah.” He sounds kinda sheepish as he says it, but he doesn’t try to lie. “She’s- we’re- That’s what works for us.” He presses one soft kiss on her cheek, his voice quiet. “I think it works for us quite well.”

Thor is staring at him. It would look hysterically funny if he weren’t wearing his ass as a hat right now. “Then she is the mistress, _you_ do not own _her_?” he says. “She is the one who decides your behaviour, she is the one who tells you what she wants?”

Steve shrugs. “Don’t think one human being can own another, and it’s far more mutual than I thought it could be. But she’s my… She’s my girl, yeah. I suppose you could say mistress.”

Darcy can’t help her smile though she knows she really should. “And he’s my soldier,” she says softly. She kisses his cheek.

“He’s my Soldier Steve.”

This time she’s sure she hears Tasha snicker. But it’s not nearly the most unusual thing she hears that day. Because suddenly Thor’s face breaks into a wide grin, his voice booming in congratulation. “I did not realise that,” he says happily. “To that, I cannot object.” He reaches over and shakes Steve’s hand. He seems to be contemplating doing the same to Darcy but one look at her glower nips that in the bud. “You have fine taste, my friend,” he says brightly, nodding instead to Rogers. “She is both cunning and voracious, she will bind you well and tight.” And he starts for the door, gesturing for Tasha to follow. Suddenly he’s all sunshine and puppy-dogs and Darcy can’t hide her surprise. _Not that either of them object to it, but still..._ “To think, I was worried,” Thor is saying to Tasha as he walks out the door. “But Darcy has the right of it, I should have had more trust in her. Her abysmal taste in men could not continue indefinitely-”

“So you didn’t guess?” Tasha’s cocking a wry eyebrow as she follows. “The whole mine, mine, mine thing at the coffee shop didn’t tip you off about it? Or my pointing out who was wearing the cuffs?” She swings on her heel and winks at Steve and Darcy as she pulls the door shut behind them. The couple hear the rest of the conversation muffled through the wood. “This world has very strange notions about who should lead in the bed-chamber,” Thor is saying. “And Steven fights with me: I worried for Darcy’s physical safety in all this, as I once worried for my Jane’s. But if she binds him?” He laughs. “To that I can have no objection. She will make him a fine bind-wife, and he a fine thrall…” There’s more, probably equally emotionally scarring, words in that conversation but Darcy can no longer hear them.

Because now that she’s alone with Steve she’s not sure what to do.

The last few days have been an emotional roller coaster and she’s not sure she’s ready to stop yet.

_Their gazes collide now they’re alone in the bed and for some reason neither can fathom they both look away._

For a moment Darcy feels something tight and sharp, like the jag of unwanted tears go through her. The strength of it is surprising, considering the source. Because before she decided to go all territorial on Thor, hadn’t she been thinking she was in trouble? Hadn’t she been telling herself to cut and run, now, while this is all so new? And yet… Still not looking at him she jumps out of the bed, goes looking for her panties. She finds them bunched in with his socks and the very… ordinariness of that shakes her to her core. Makes her want to smile or cry a little, she’s not entirely sure which. But she can’t think about why that might make her uncomfortable, not now. _Not with Loki loose_. She needs to get her head in the game, needs to find out what the team needs. Needs to figure out a way to get back to the gym and collect her shirt and jacket without flashing any more superheroes her goods. As she thinks that she finds her pants, shimmies into them. They smell… Well they smell of arousal and Steve’s soap, and it belatedly occurs to her that he never wears aftershave and yet he always smells awesome to her. As she pulls up the zipper Steve’s hand suddenly covers hers. She feels his arms and shoulders wrap around her waist, his warmth a pleasant, welcome relief there against her thighs and ass.

“We’ll talk later,” he says softly. She feels him press a chaste kiss against the small of her back. “You know, when the world’s not about to end.”

Despite herself Darcy closes her eyes, leans back into him. Her hands, of their own volition apparently, come up to cover the ones he’s pressed against her hips. “Yeah,” she says, and she knows it’s a copout and she knows it’s noncommittal, but she doesn’t think messing with his head is a real good idea right before he goes into battle with Loki again. For a moment he holds on and then he lets her go, starts dressing. She shrugs and finds her bra, does it up. Decides to abandon her spattered camisole to its fate and concentrate on hair-brushing instead. _Because that’s really going to be the thing she needs to master right now._ She’s about to sneak out the door to find her shirt when Steve grabs her arm. His grip is slight but heavy and she can’t shake it off. “Close your eyes for a second,” he says, and despite everything, despite all her confusion she does it. She feels something warm and clean and soft close over her arms and shoulders, opens her eyes to Steve doing her up in one of his flannel shirts despite the fact that it’s miles too big on her.

“When this is over we’re going to get something more permanent,” he says softly, gesturing to the shirt. “For me… And maybe for you.”

Darcy reaches out and touches his face. She doesn’t know what to say to him. She understands the desire to mark his territory but she’s not sure how much good it will do. “I’m not exactly the permanent type, Steve,” she points out gently. “I hate picket fences, you know that.”

His grin is truly confident for the first time she’s ever seen it. He leans down until they are literally nose to nose. “Then I guess I’ll have to convert you,” he murmurs. He closes the last button, reaches up to brush his thumb against her lip. She sighs at the feel of it, and he sighs too. “Besides, you’ve shown me I have an appreciation for the less traditional things in life,” he’s saying. “Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

And with that he presses a last kiss to her lips and pads out the door. Joins the other Avengers, saying something low and sharp to Maria Hill which Darcy doesn’t quite catch. Telling Thor to put a can in his congratulations and bring everyone up to speed. Within ten minutes they’re ready to go, a sighting of Loki having been reported near some private school way out in Westchester. The quinjet collects them from the roof, some new modifications causing Banner and Stark to chatter proudly and grin the whole way there. But the whole journey Steve’s words play out in Darcy’s head, the fact that they weren’t instantly dismissed by her not something with which she’s completely ready to wrestle. The thought that in two days things could have gotten so intense setting panic loose in her chest. Because if she’s being completely honest with herself Darcy’s not sure whether she wants Steve to surprise her-

_Or whether she’s absolutely terrified that he will._


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Westchester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, work is a bit nuts so my internet time's curtailed again. But I just wanted to say thanks to notashamed, pizzagirl, inkandash and l_ostsheep3 for their reviews. Know this is a slight change of pace but it's necessary... Hope you enjoy in any way and like the guest stars.

_Disclaimer_ : This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: WESTCHESTER**

By the time they reach the Jean Grey Institute of Higher Learning, Steve’s cleared _nervous_ and moseyed right on into _jittery_.

It’s not only that his entire team now know something about his private life he wanted kept, well, private. It’s not only that he’s less than convinced about Thor’s turn-around back in his apartment and is waiting for the Asgardian to change his mind and start removing his limbs. And it’s not only that the words “Loki,” “loose,” and “school-kids,” are amongst the least welcome he’s ever heard grouped in a sentence-

No, it’s the look on Darcy’s face when he buttoned his shirt on her that’s giving him trouble. She looked… Well, _scared_ , as if the thought of him sticking around were terrifying to her. As if the mere thought that he might want something more permanent than the last few says were horrifying. And though he knows he should have his head more firmly in the game, Steve can’t help how nervous that makes him feel-

_In fact, if he didn’t have a mission to keep his attention focussed he’s pretty certain he’d be chewing his nails tight about now._

Because he doesn’t want to lose her, not now he’s found her. Not now the right little bird has flitted along, as Esme would say, and discovered the many, many interesting things she can do with a little bit of rope. Steve knows it’s crazy, and he knows they’re moving too fast (and coming from a man who witnessed the WW2 marriage boom that’s really saying something.) He knows that this is not how he was raised, or how he ever thought he’d end up wooing the woman in his life. But he doesn’t want to stop. _Not now. Maybe not ever._ He doesn’t want to take the risk of letting Darcy go. Because he waited for the right dance partner once before and lost her. He doesn’t want to go through the same thing again. He won’t. _He… can’t, that’s the truth of it._

So he’s going to fight for her, he’s going to try and win her.

The only problem being that Darcy looks like she’s not entirely onboard with that plan.

Steve’s been around a lot of nervous people over his time in the service: He knows the look of someone who’s thinking of bolting. And Darcy’s been wearing that expression ever since they left his place. Her pretty blue eyes haunted and far away. Her body buzzing with nervous, pent-up energy. _It’s enough to give a guy the heebie jeebies._ She seemed pathologically incapable of meeting his gaze the whole way to the school in Westchester; Instead she spent the entire ride flirting with Stark, to the visible confusion and discomfort of the rest of the team and the wry amusement of Agent Hill. Tasha and Clint exchanging looks when they thought he wasn’t watching, Thor gritting his teeth as he listened in.

And then, when they hit the ground Darcy practically ran from the jet, happy to be put on hacking detail inside one of the massive school’s cleared side buildings while Stark and Thor take aerial recon and Steve leads the rest of the team into the mansion-like main house. Barely looking back at him as she slipped on her head-set, ignoring his whispered “bye,” as she darts inside the door. Rogers knows a brush off when he sees one: In fact, he’s had enough of them to last him a lifetime, and it looks like Darcy’s a pro. B _ut it still hurts._ So when he feels Bruce place a hand on his shoulder and steer him towards the building he tells himself that he shouldn’t get upset, should just get his head in the game.

After all, the Jean Grey Institute of Higher Learning has more than a thousand students, according to Hill’s briefing, most of them under the age of majority.

_Steve can’t really justify endangering that many innocent lives just to worry about the girl he suspects won’t become his girlfriend._

“She’ll come around,” he hears Bruce murmur softly then, the smaller man standing by his elbow.

He’s making a show of attaching his mike to his shirt, his brown eyes carefully not meeting Steve’s.

Despite himself Rogers smiles. “Your lips to God’s ears, Doc,” he says, trying to make his voice lighter.

The intercom’s built into the suit’s mask and he’s not sure whether Darcy’s listening in yet or not- though radio silence would probably be wise.

“Listen to Bruce,” Clint chimes in, “He’s the smartest of the three of us.” The archer grins. “Not that I put brains above talent, as you can see.” Barton’s smile turns positively feral. “Now stand back gentlemen, I need to signal out contact that the cavalry’s arrived-”

And with that Barton loosens a single, wooden arrow from his bow, sending it sailing through the air into an open second story window in the main house. For a moment nothing happens and then suddenly a flash of fireworks appears, apparently out of nowhere, pink and purple light spitting sparks. Barton grins and speaks into his mike- “Contact made, Tasha-”

And that’s when the two girls and the _entirely blue_ man suddenly appear before Steve.

Rogers has seen plenty in his time as Captain America, up to and including the true face of the Red Skull. He’s seen aliens try to take over New York and he counts a Norse God as a personal friend- But he has never seen anything as amazing as that. Because one moment the space before him was empty and then POW! There’s someone there. Three someones, if he’s counting the girls, all of whom look way more normal than the blue guy who appears to be wearing- _Lord help them_ \- a cape. Rogers turns to Bruce and Clint, just to check that they’re seeing what he’s seeing. Hawkeye’s grinning though, holding his hand out to the blue fella and pulling him into a hug.

“Good to see you, Kurt,” he says softly, “Sorry it took us a while-”

The blue guy- Kurt- shrugs, patting his shoulder. “I am just happy to see you, my friend. We didn’t know if our message got through.” He nods to the two girls. “Kitty and Jubes have managed to clear out most of the younger children so we should have a clean playing field; Rogue and Logan are running interference with the older students; I believe they were heading out to look for Thor and Stark. We’ve got Loki cornered in the main house-”

But Steve’s trying to get up to speed. “So there’s still kids in the area?” he asks instead, aware that he’s still probably catching flies but knowing this is the most important thing he has to ascertain. _If there’s kids in the equation how they approach everything will have to change._ At his words Kurt and the two girls look at him and he makes a conscious effort to look less like an idiot. “We weren’t given much intel when we were sent here,” he explains. “I’m still playing catch-up-”

“We’ve been on radio silence since Loki arrived,” one of the girls, a tiny, elfin brunette says tersely, speaking over him. “Loki was using it to track our movements so we cut it off. You might want to tell your team to do the same.” At Steve’s raised eyebrows she holds out her hand. “Kit Pryde, Head-Mistress. Also former S.H.I.E.L.D. operative and kicker of Hawkeye’s ass. And no, since you asked, there’s no really small kids here, just some really pissed off teenagers.” She grins wickedly. “Which is actually a good thing.

Especially in a school like this.”

Apparently she can read Steve’s wariness at that statement because she gestures to the rest of her group. _None of them look like any school teacher Steve’s ever seen_. “This is Kurt Wagner, one of our PE teachers,” she continues. “Like the rest of us he’s…. special. And I’m guessing Nick Fury didn’t bother to explain how.” She rolls her eyes. “That damn man and his need to know,” she grouses. “Suffice to say, we can all take care of ourselves. And anybody else in a dumbass helmet who comes along.” Steve hears Clint snort at the description of Loki but it does nothing to calm him. _He’s seen the kind of punch the younger Odinsson packs._ “This here’s my partner, Jubes,” Pryde continues. The other woman, an equally petite Asian, nods. “Feel free to tell her she’s a pain in the ass,” Pryde adds. “We do it all the time-”

Jubes is unperturbed though. “And then I bust a paff in your ass.” Another one of those pink and purple flares Steve saw earlier pops and she gestures to it. “See how that works? Paff- Meet the Avengers. Avengers- meet La Paff.” She grins. _But then, if Steve could do something that awesome, he’d grin too._ “Hey, Cap,” she continues, “I dressed up as you last Hallowe’en.” She makes a show of leering at him. “Gotta say though, you fill out that suit better’n I did…”

Pryde rolls her eyes and Jubes pouts. “You’re no fun, you know that, white bread?”

Again Pryde rolls her eyes. “You’re fun enough for the both of us, fire-cracker. Now get your head in the game and quit sexually harassing Fury’s golden boy-”

She looks like she’s about to say more but there’s a sudden boom from the direction of the school’s exterior. She exchanges a quick look with Kurt and he disappears, rematerialising a few moments later with a lanky, dark-haired teenage boy leaning on his shoulders, blood streaming from his leg. A tall redhead with white streaks in her auburn hair is helping Kurt hold the boy up, her face streaked with soot and ash, a bloody handprint across her jaw. “Report, Rogue?” Pryde snaps and the redhead looks up at her.

“Julian here took a blow meant for Laura,” the woman says. Her voice holds a trace of a Southern accent. “Him’n the Cuckoos were trying to keep Loki out of Cerebro-” She snorts. “Think that plan might be screwed three ways to Hell, though.”

All the non-Avengers swear at that.

_Clearly this is bad though Steve doesn’t know why._

“What’s Cerebro?” he asks tightly, “And what makes you think Loki’s after it?”

It’s Banner who answers. “Cerebro is theoretically the very big, very privately funded, very special supercomputer housed in this school which, like almost everything else in the place, does not officially exist.” He shoots Pryde a look. “That about cover it?”

Pryde nods. “Pretty much. And thank you for pretending you still don’t believe it’s real: There’s plenty in Washington would kick your ass for that.” At Banner’s smile she nods. “We think Loki’s trying to get inside Cerebro, use it to reach out to everyone on the planet,” she continues. “Not sure what his end-game is, but that’s what most people who try to take over Cerebro want to use it for.” She shrugs at Steve’s horrified expression. “This isn’t our first rodeo, and that’s not going to happen: The Professor and Emma have barricaded themselves inside it, and they’re more than enough for Loki-”

“They can hold the fort?” Steve asks. But he’s not convinced.

_And image of navy-blue eyes, frightened and worried, blooms inside his mind…_

Pryde’s certain though and her tone cuts through his fear. “Whatever about Emma, Loki’s no match for Professor Xavier,” she’s saying. “He’s dealt with all sorts of mental manipulation before-”

As if to give lie to her words though there’s another, louder crash, followed by a rumbling explosion. It seems to come from the same direction as the last one and as Steve watches smoke begins to rise from the back of the school’s main house. The woman with the streaks- _Rogue?_ \- takes in a sharp hiss of breath, letting go of her grip on the injured young man and jumping upwards. Her feet leaving the ground, skin turning metallic and grey. As Steve watches she keeps going, sailing upwards with the same ease as Tony or Thor would do-

He feels Jubes tug at his sleeve. “Like my chica said, everyone here’s special.” She nods to the other woman. “Rogue’s husband Logan is in the main house, watching out for the seniors. That explosion coulda either been caused by him or by someone trying to take him out.” Jubes flicks her hand and sets a spray of her paffs alight, golden and blue this time. Some explode in front of the side house in which Darcy is huddled, others swarm and dart down towards the back of the school, where Steve suspects the sports fields would lie. Others dart in through the windows of the house. “It’s an order,” Jubes mutters, seeing his confusion, “means everyone fall in and head for the mansion. If Loki’s broken into Cerebro we don’t have any time to waste-”

And as she speaks Rogue reappears above them, Thor and Stark beside her. Tasha’s holding onto the Asgardian’s shoulders, her expression sharp and tight. A man with feathered wings on his back is flying beside them, a girl with delicate, firefly-like pink wings flits at their right. The group seems intent, heading straight towards the main house: Apparently they’ve decided that stealth has no place now that this Cerebro- whatever-it-is has been breached. Well, if there’s one thing Steve understands it’s a full-frontal assault and that must show because Jubes grins at him. Conjures up another spray of paffs and sets them hissing and spitting in front of them both.

“You ready to fall in, Cap?” she says and Steve nods, Clint loading up his bow and Banner’s skin turning greyish then green-tinged-

Steve brings his shield in front of him and soon as he does do the world turns black, inky. He has a vague feeling of falling to the ground and as he does so he hears the familiar sound of a wicked, hateful, entirely feminine laugh…

“Greetings, mwoi meel,” he hears Yelena Belova say. “It has been far too long since you and I saw one another…”

When Steve recognises it he does the only thing he can do: He throws up.


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Trauma

_Disclaimer_ : This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: TRAUMA**

_Meanwhile…_

When she hears the first explosion, Darcy ducks out of instinct.

Straight under the desk she goes, laptop dragged with her. Her mind running through every cuss word she knows- repeatedly- while she tries not to think about what might be going on outside. _And who it might not be happening to._ The fact that the team’s now on radio silence doing nothing to help her nerves. It was easier during the Battle of Manhattan: She was too busy trying to keep the streets clear with her fellow agents to worry about people she cared about getting hurt. Hell, her mom was back in California and Erik and Jane were somewhere in Norway: There was nobody she needed to worry about.

_Loki Odinsson and his alien homies could. Kiss. Her. Ass._

But today- Today there’s somebody out in the battle that she cares about. _Six somebodies, in point of fact_. And one of them- One of them is a doofus with a shield who seems to be a magnet for trouble. Who gets himself into stupid, dangerous situations because he has to be all heroic and Steve-like and shit and save the fucking day. _And this is the guy who’s head she spent the entire ride here screwing with, because he managed to shake her up a little by being **nice**. Not exactly her finest moment, that._ So despite the fact that Darcy know- knows- he’s socked Adolf Hitler two hundred times on the jaw, and despite the fact that she knows the Avengers will cover his ass and protect their own, she can’t help being frightened at the thought of her soldier out there in that explosion-

Trying to save those kids. Trying to do the right thing by everyone, even her.

_There were times when, if she didn't know him, Steven Grant Rogers would be a real pain in her ass._

Another bang echoes through the room and Darcy silently vows to herself that if they both live through this she’s going to apologise for, well, everything, because she really can’t live with the thought of Steve being mad at her. Or upset.

_Or, you know, deceased._

“You’re breaking my heart here, chere,” a voice sounds then, from the other side of the room. “Could you mutter about that boy o’ yours a little more quietly, please?” The dude they’d set her up with when she got here’s growling from underneath another desk, still flicking that stupid playing card from hand to hand.

Darcy sticks a single hand out from beneath the desk, middle finger pointing upwards, and the guy laughs.

“I’m just saying, darlin’, stealth might be a good idea in this situation…We don’t know how many troops Loki has…”

“Stealth can bite me,” Darcy snaps. “I’m stuck in here while God knows what is happening to my team-”

The dude- _Remy, she remembers_ \- snickers. “Petite, nobody is going to notice you here if I’m with you. That’s why they paired us: I’m the best psychic shield you ever gonna need.” Darcy peeks out from underneath the desk to see him looking at the playing card, his eyes glowing red. He’s staring at the thing as if it can tell the future. “So kindly stop dicking around and keep up with the job you were given,” he continues, gesturing to the laptop with the card, an ace of hearts. “That’s the best thing you can do for your team, and your boy. We’ve given you the backdoor codes for Cerebro, cuz that’s where Loki’s attention seems to be focussed.

So get hacking, petite-”

And as if to remind her of the stakes another massive explosion sounds, this time in the general vicinity of the school’s main house. Darcy’s stomach clenches as she wonders who might have gotten caught in that one but Remy’s right, she needs to focus. _If she doesn’t, Phil Coulson’s ghost might well rise from the grave and kick her ass- And several good people might be caught in Loki’s path._ The reason they isolated her is simple: If she can get inside the Institute’s mainframe quietly she can pull the power from Cerebro and cut the massive machine off before it follows through on whatever Loki’s planning. Leaving the trickster to contend with the Avengers and a house chockfull of super-powered teens while the world (and, she has to admit to herself, the Steve-shaped portion of it) is saved.

As plans go it’s not terribly intricate but then Loki would expect that. He’s all about the wheels-within-wheels-style machinations, she knows. And given how much fire-power is being thrown at him, the Asgardian probably won’t even notice her presence until it’s too late. It kinda tickles Darcy that the Mullet of Doom might be brought low by little ole her, but that’s not gonna happen if she can’t get the damn uplink with Cerebro going. She’s been trying since she got here, running through code, looking for a loophole. The damn thing was built to be impenetrable and she’d love to congratulate whoever designed its security on a job well done. But she has the override codes, dammit, it should be easier than this-

All she really wants to do is go outside and make sure her team’s alright, and this damn job is interfering with that.

_But if she could just check and make sure Steve’s still going then she knows she could get through anything else._

Another explosion sounds then, this one much nearer. At practically the same moment the uplink finally makes contact with Cerebro and asks her to input a security code. She does so, calling to Remy to come over and have his eyeball scanned by the remote viewer he gave her when she got here, allowing her to access the machine. The machine accepts his ID and instantly she’s faced with lists of numbers, functions all running at the same time. There are massive power spikes going into the machine, enough to send it working at full capacity, and Remy has already told her that would be a very bad thing. She checks its stats lists but at the moment it seems to be in contact with a very limited number of people: several Jean Grey Institute employees’ names are listed, as well as a growing number of what look like random civilians, some merely assigned numbers, some with social security or drivers’ licence photos on display. _Cerebro really is attached to everything,_ she thinks. _If it has any info on a person, it shows up._ Darcy feels a lump in her throat as she watches: If these are all people the machine is reaching for then they are in a lot of trouble-

And then one particular name pops up on-screen, blinking green and then red as full contact is made, and Darcy feels her heart literally stop in her chest.

On the list of actives she can see the words “Rogers, S.G., S.H.I.E.L.D operative, class 5,” and suddenly-

Suddenly she really can’t breathe.

Only her training saves her. _That and the memory of Phil Coulson’s threats when she first joined._ For a split second Darcy squeezes her eyes shut, surprised and a little embarrassed to feel them tearing up. And then she gets to working, setting loose a charming little virus she managed to upload from the laptop in order to tie up the mainframe while she searches for the power controls on Cerebro. Trying to ascertain whether she can remotely cut Loki’s link to all these people from here, trying to measure the advantages of that against the possible giving away of her location. The plan appears to be working, at least a little: The mainframe’s running ever slower and more and more names are dropping off the “in contact,” list. But Steve’s never even wavers. Several of the teachers’ don’t either. It seems that whatever contact Loki has with them, he’s intent on keeping it-

Remy lets out a hiss and a string of loud, impressively imaginative swear-words then and suddenly she’s thrown onto her back as the door to their safe house explodes inwards.

The Cajun covered her body with his, taking the brunt of the explosion, and as the smoke clears Darcy suddenly realises how much trouble she’s in.

Because Steve’s standing at the door, his blue eyes practically glowing in that weird way Clint’s did when he was Loki’d. His shield held before him, a small automatic in his hand. He’s wearing the eeriest, most desolate look Darcy’s ever seen on his face, as if someone’s… _As if someone has simply drawn all the Steve away and left an empty shell behind them._ For a moment the urge to reach out to him, to shake him right, is so strong that she has to physically restrain herself from it. But she can’t help the way her stomach flops down to her toes. As soon as he recognises the threat Remy’s on his feet, that playing card he was messing with floating a couple of inches above his fingers. The paper’s starting to glow ominously, energy spitting and sparking through the room.

“You no want to mess with me,” he says slowly, eyeing Rogers. Shifting himself to cover Darcy as she picks up the laptop and tries taking down the link again.

“That’s where you’re mistaken,” Steve says in this weird, clipped tone that doesn’t even sound like it’s his. “You see, sir, you have a fugitive from the US Army and S.H.I.E.L.D. in this room and I’m here to take her into custody.” She nods curtly to Darcy, his eyes narrowing in disgust.

“You’re coming with me, Belova,” he says. “Put the computer down.”

 _Belova?_ Darcy thinks. _He’s confusing me with that **bitch** Belova?_

For a moment she doesn’t understand what that little Romanova wannabe has to do with anything and then- _Then_ \- Steve darts forward and yanks her to her feet, knocking the laptop from her grasp. His arm coming up to block her windpipe, cutting off her air.

“Steve,” she tries to gasp, “Steve, it’s me, it’s Darcy…”

Steve tightens his grip. “You don’t get to talk about her,” he hisses, face in hers. “I saw what you did to her…I saw what you made of my girl and I already know what you’re capable of, you sick, perverted witch…”

And suddenly his face twists in sorrow, hurt unlike anything Darcy’s ever seen from him warping his expression. He’s practically shaking with it, and the truth comes together in Darcy’s head. _Eyes like Clint’s when Loki’d. Mistaking her for someone else, thinking that she’s dead._ She doesn’t know much about Cerebro but it’s designed to make psionic contact with other people, and if Loki’s still attached to it then he could easily reach into her soldier’s mind and make him believe stuff that’s not true. Could easily make him see things and do things he’d never agree to if it was Steve only at the wheel. And it would be just like Loki to send Steve after a woman, knowing as he does that “the soldier,” would never want to hurt a female unless he had no choice.

_That’s the kinda thing the little Asgardian bastard would think was **fun**. _

The entire train of thought takes less than a minute; Darcy can see the anger in Steve’s eyes, see how much he hurt he wants to inflict for what he thinks was done to his girl and she knows she’s right. And just as she realises that Remy appears behind Steve, that glowing playing card still in his hand. Another glowing in the air before him, his eyes red as the devil himself’s. “You picked the wrong girl to threaten, man,” Remy mutters.

With a flick of his wrist he sets the playing card he was holding off in Steve’s face, knocking her soldier backwards.

Three more cards follow in rapid succession and Steve drops her, turning to face his new foe.

Remy’s smart, he gets distance and he gets powered up. The exploding cards making way for exploding paperweights and office supplies and pretty much anything else he can lay his hands on. But Steve’s got home court advantage in hand-to-hand; the problem with having an explosive gimmick or power, Darcy knows, is that if anyone gets past that and close to you, then you’re basically screwed. _Ask Tony Stark_. And that’s precisely what Steve does now, getting in close and landing body blows. Pummelling Remy with sharp, rabbit punches that look as if they hurt like Hell. The fight dances back and forth, both men sparring. Dropped from Steve’s grip Darcy crawls over to the laptop and picks it up, determined to finish this. _She wants her Steve back **now**_. Miracle of miracles, the uplink to Cerebro is still running and by now the mainframe is so overloaded that she can navigate the control panel easily. The power readings are right there and Darcy carefully sorts through them. Finds the kill switch and hits it, silently praying that she’s doing the right thing.

“He’s gonna be fine, you’re gonna make it fine,” she mutters.

“You get the link down and you’ll get your soldier back.”

She knows the moment it works, sees the lights in the room flicker. She may have been responsible for some sort of over-kill but she couldn’t give a rat’s ass. Of a sudden Steve drops, his knees hitting the ground with a sickening crick. Remy’s arm is pulled back to land another blow and she grabs his fist, pulling hard to stop the punch.

“No,” she says, “I won’t let you hurt him-”

Remy’s look is incredulous- “He the one trying t’hurt me, chere-”

“He’s not in his right mind,” she says. “Loki was controlling him and now that’s over…”

And she kneels down beside Steve, taking his cheek in her hands. His eyes are still shut and there’s so much sorrow in his face that she feels like her heart might break. “Steve,” she says softly, “Steve, come back to me, honey.” He doesn’t respond and she leans in closer, her nose gently brushing his. “Please, soldier, I need you to come back to me,” she whispers in his ear. “I know- I know what Loki told you happened, but you can see it’s just not true-”

And she reaches down and gently brushes her lips along his, trying to reassure him. Trying to show that she understands, that she’s angry about what Loki made him do. For a moment his grip on her tightens, hands coming to rest on her elbows. His fingers dig in as if he’s trying to anchor himself and Darcy increases her own grip on him. But just as she’s about to kiss him again, he stiffens. And not the way he does when he’s a little uncomfortable; This goes the whole way through his frame, making him look, for a moment, like the statue Stark used to say he was. “Darce,” he whispers softly, “I didn’t mean- I thought she’d found you…”

“I know, soldier, I know,” she tells him. “It’s going to be… It’s totally okay.”

“It’s _not_ okay.” His voice is like frost as he says it, and for the first time she realises why this guy is put in command of almost everything. Because that’s not a voice you disobey, that’s a voice you follow into Hell. He’s shaking, where she touches him. His whole body coiled tight with pressure, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. And then without any explanation he pulls out of her grip and gets to his feet, pulling the shield in front of him. He won’t look at her as he does it, the discomfort practically coming off him in waves. Darcy tries to touch him as he darts towards the exit and when her hand makes contact- She sees him flinch. As if he can’t bear her touch. As if he’s disgusted by her.

He exits the building without looking back and heads for the main house.

Her radio bursts into life at her ear- “We won,” Tony’s telling her- but Darcy doesn’t feel that’s right at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There now, hope you enjoyed. And don't worry: There's plenty more smut on the way. (Evil grin) After all, Steeb's going to need someone to hold his hand, now, isn't he?


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first of all, thanks go to inkandash, notashamed and sarah47q for their reviews. Glad you're still enjoying it, there's more Steeb and Darcy on the way. 
> 
> Please note though that this chapter is a little darker than the others. We have the fallout from Loki and the fallout from Belova in Siberia to deal with, and I felt it was necessary to give space to both. Don't worry, there's a romance in there still; Suffice it to say though that Steve and Darcy's tendency to shag first and talk later is going to come back to bite them on the arse. There's a reason so many couples come up with a safe word... 
> 
> So with all that (long windedly) said, on with the story!

_Disclaimer_ : This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: FUN**

They don’t talk the entire way home.  
  
Everyone deals with their trauma in that time-honoured superhero fashion: Staring into space. Nursing their wounds. Calling their loved ones or superiors and explaining the world didn’t end. Clint and Tasha count and sign off on their gear (because nobody wants to discover they’ve left a top-secret government-issue weapon in a school, particularly _that_ school), occasionally murmuring to one another. Tony speaks quietly to Pepper through his com device while Hill glares at her tablet as she types up her report to Fury. Banner just stares at his hands in silence, an after-Hulk meltdown apparently well in effect, while Darcy bites her nails and spends her time shooting nervous, heart-twisting little glances at the guy who just tried to crush her wind-pipe. And Steve-

Steve sits and stares at his hands.

Not talking. Not moving. Not even blinking.

_Because every time he closes his eyes he sees what Loki made him think had been done to Darcy._

And every time he thinks of _that_ , he hears Belova’s voice crooning to him, telling him what she’s planning to do to his girl. Telling him what being with him will cost her. Doesn’t matter that Steve knows it was all in his head, doesn’t matter that he knows Loki summoned every one of the team’s worst fears in the hope of keeping them off-balance long enough to gain complete control of that Cerebro machine. Doesn’t even matter that Belova was rumoured killed three months ago in a small Chechnyan town near the border with Georgia and that even if she’s not dead she won’t be looking for S.H.I.E.L.D’s attention for a while. Because she’s alive and well inside Steve’s head. Taunting him, making threats. Making promises. Reminding him of what she did to him, pointing out that everything he has with Darcy is down to her. Pointing out how much he must have liked it, if he’s found a substitute to fill in. Intellectually Steve knows that it’s not like that with Darcy, knows that what they do together has nothing to do with Belova. Knows too that Darcy Lewis is about as far from that evil witch as moonlight is from day, even _if_ she likes to run hot and cold with a guy when she’s nervous-

But it doesn’t matter.

_None of it matters._

Because he hurt her and he’s a freak and he can’t seem to make Belova shut up now that she’s started talking.

He remembers that moment back at the school when he threw up and he knows he wants to do it again, no matter who might see.

So when they hit the ground he’s off the quinjet before the rest of the team have even opened their safety belts. Padding silently through the S.H.I.E.L.D. offices, heading for the storage locker where he stashes his spare clothes. Moving like an automaton, the shield a terrible, heavy weight against his back. The mask stifling and uncomfortable, so much so that he forces it off though he knows it’s against protocol, even in headquarters. The rest of the team eventually catch up to him, all except Thor, who’s on Lokisitting duty, and Tony, who’s mysteriously made himself scarce, thank the Lord. None of them speak though Tasha gives his arm a quick, almost-unnoticed squeeze before heading off to shower. Clint nodding curtly before doing the same. Steve follows suit, stands under the hot spray, letting it wash over him. The images of what he saw- _Darcy bleeding, Darcy dying, Steve tied to a chair and made to watch_ \- play inside his head like a movie. The sounds of her imagined crying almost worst than the visuals. Steve closes his eyes, keeps turning the water hotter and hotter until he’s surprised his skin doesn’t blister. Surprised it doesn’t peel right off, and everything else he is along with it. But of course it won’t- it can’t do.

The serum won’t let it.

_Uncle Sam’s Made-Up Man can’t bruise or bleed or show any evidence of the life he’s lived at all._

He feels the pain, nerve-endings on fire, but it never dulls and it never stops. There’s a dull thudding at the base of his skull and it takes him a moment to realise that it’s him, his head tapping against the wall of the shower in dull, precise measure. His hands curled so tightly into his palms that he can feel the nails dig in. The pain doesn’t feel good, it feels… necessary. _Feels like something he’s supposed to experience_. Eventually though he manages to get himself together enough to shut the water off. Gets out of the shower, changes his clothes though he doesn’t quite remember doing it, and like a sleepwalker makes his way towards the garage and his bike. The desire to be home weighing more heavily on him than it ever has. The hope that he can just fall into blessed oblivion when his head hits the pillow all he can really handle. _Besides, he has nowhere else to go_. And he can’t talk about this- There aren’t words- there aren’t concepts for it-

He’s Captain damn America. His job is to protect people. To protect _her_.

_He hasn’t the right to a weakness as great as this, hasn’t the right to be this effected by a simple hostage situation._

The apartment is dark when he finally gets there. Silent- Or at least as silent as a Brooklyn loft can be. But there’s someone here, Steve’s pretty sure of it. He can’t explain how he knows it but he hasn’t a single doubt. For a moment that blind panic Loki managed to instil returns with a vengeance but he stifles it, moves silently forward, intent on surprising his uninvited guest. Almost grateful for a fight if it means he can take out some of the frustrations of his day, eager to pummel something real when he can’t silence a voice in his head. He steals into his living room, quiet as a shadow, and as he does he realises that the reading lamp beside his couch is on. That the copy of _East of Eden_ he’s been thumbing through is lying on the floor. Hot on the heels of this revelation comes the realisation that Darcy Lewis is curled up in his couch, wrapped in a blanket and staring at him with wide, navy blue eyes-

She manages to open her mouth to greet him- “Hey,” is what he assumes she’s aiming for- and something inside Steve just seems to snap.

He doesn’t want to talk to her- He doesn’t _deserve_ to talk to her.

 _But she’s here and she’s not going away and he doesn’t know how to tell her that_.

She must read the reaction on his face because her eyes widen, if that’s even possible. She opens her mouth to say something else and Steve just doesn’t give her the chance, just crosses the room and pulls her to her feet by her elbows. She’s so small, he suddenly realises, for the first time in their relationship truly feeling big. Like that man who came out of Erskine’s box, that man who just won’t die. For a moment he thinks he’s just going to frog-march her from the apartment, unable to go another round with her tenderness or her distancing. Unable to keep himself safe from her, her presence a reminder of everything that’s happened to him today, of everything he’s done wrong since Belova tied him to that chair. But as soon as he puts his hands on her he feels that familiar hunger hiss and snap into life, desire and want coming to the fore with breathtaking speed as they have every other time he’s touched her. She sighs in anticipation, arousal obvious in her too. They may not be great at many thing, he thinks, but him and Darcy will always be able to share this, will always be tinderbox combustible when it comes to sex-

 _And that’s what she wants, isn’t it_? He tells himself. She’s nervous around tenderness, she’s nervous around gentility and kindness and everything else he’s tried to show her- _So maybe he should try to show her something else._ _Maybe he should **be** something else._ As he thinks that, there’s a vague sense in Steve that he’s falling, tumbling, and for some reason the last moments when the Valkyrie was swallowed by the ocean slips into his mind. But he pushes them away, not sure why the action itself feels so good. Not sure why the notion that he’s deciding, that he’s in charge, is suddenly such a big deal. Darcy blinks up at him, surprise written all over her face. For a split second he thinks she’s going to pull away from him and he knows that if she does that he’ll let her go-

 _She might never come back again, but he’ll respect her choice_ -

Instead though she reaches out and touches his face, closing her eyes and kissing him. Sighing into it, her arms twining around his neck, her soft body pressed against his. It’s the gentility that undoes him, the sweetness of it. He can feel revulsion rise within him at it and suddenly, just for a moment he’s back in that chair in Siberia. He’s back in Belova’s hands, back in Loki’s snare. She’s murmuring against his skin, calling him her soldier. Not _his_ name, _her_ name for him, and for some reason he can’t understand that makes him angrier than anything else. With a muttered curse he picks her up, three quick strides forcing her up onto the living room table, her ass slipping and sliding on the smooth surface as he pushes his way between her knees. Hands grabbing at her back, forcing her into him. The feel of her warm and real as he clutches her, his grip way harder than he knows it should be. She blinks again and then she shifts, nodding almost to herself, raising her arms above her head. Still not talking, her words finally running out of her, and if it were any other moment Steve knows that would creep the Hell out of him. But he can’t think about that. He won’t do. She’s here and she’s willing and he knows what he wants from this. _No more offering, no more trust_. It’s different, this time, panicky. Him pulling her clothes off, yanking off his own. Slapping her hands away when she tries to help, the blow light, controlled and measured, designed to discourage rather than subdue her, designed to show her who’s in charge.

Darcy doesn’t talk, but that doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t do anything but what he seems to want her to do. Shifting to give him better access, raising her ass as he pulls of her skirt, pantyhose and underwear. Letting him pull her shirt off her and he can see the stress as she tries to force herself not to shrink away from his gaze. For a moment that almost stalls him, the sick feeling coming back. The suspicion that he’s losing something through what he’s doing not one he’s willing to engage with or examine. But then she pulls him closer, kisses him, her tongue in his mouth, her hands raking at his skin. It’s rough and it’s raw and it’s what he wants and for once in his life Steve doesn’t care about anything else. So he presses her back against the table, climbs on top of her. Both her wrists in his hands, her body laid out beneath him. She shifts her hips, her breathing laboured, eyes glassy, and suddenly he’s inside her again. For a moment it’s enough, the tightness, the wetness and heat. And then-

Without really understanding why, he’s lost, hips moving, body clenching. His grip on Darcy getting harder and harder. Forcing her legs high against his back until they’re at his shoulders, opening her body up to him more than he would have thought possible a day ago. She hisses at the feel of him, eyes squeezed closed, head shaking from side to side. She won’t look at him, won’t let him see her, and for once that’s fine with Steve. _Or at least, he tells himself it is._ Because what’s between them this time is loud and it’s sharp and it brutal; Everything around him is coming apart-

But he doesn’t stop.

_He can’t. He won’t do._

_He’s set himself on this course and he won’t let anyone decide when he should stop but him._

And then Darcy screams, a high, keening sound Steve’s not sure is made of pleasure. But there’s something about the ache in it that tips him over the edge too. He comes, harder than he thought he could do, burying his face in her neck for the last few moments, unwilling to go through that in the cold light of day. The heat and the feel of her so soothing though he knows it shouldn’t be so. Eventually his breathing returns to normal, he comes back to himself again. Raising himself up from where she’s lying, looking down at the woman he’s still buried inside. _Looking down at the woman who, for a moment, he feels he doesn’t know at all._ She won’t return his gaze, eyes closed, her head turned away from him. Creakingly, like he’s forgotten how to work his fingers, he releases her grip on her wrists and she slowly pulls her arms down, one going to cover her eyes more fully. The other moving down to ineffectually cover her breasts. It belatedly occurs to Steve that this is not a good sign and he opens his mouth to say so-

But... “You okay?” she asks from underneath her arm, speaking over him, and the hesitation in her voice nearly kills him.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I’m- That was…” And he trails off, at a loss for what to tell her. Pulls out of her, gets back to his feet, suddenly feeling exposed. He doesn’t want to look at her, doesn’t even want to look at himself. Her shirt lies in a crumpled heap on the floor and he walks over, covers her body with it. Turns back to go looking for his own clothes though he can see her slowly sitting up out of the corner of his eyes. See her beginning to dress.

_This all just feels **wrong**._

“Did I hurt you?” he asks quietly then, though he supposes it’s a bit late for that now.

_For a moment he dreads that she’ll say yes, and he’s not sure how he’ll handle it._

But she shakes her head, gaze downcast. Suddenly looking a little lost herself. “No, it was- I mean, that was fun. Sometimes sex is just fun.” She forces herself to look at him this time. “Isn’t that what I’ve been saying all along, soldier?”

_But Steve doesn't believe either of them are thinking **that** right now._

“Look, I have a super-early meeting tomorrow so I should just get going,” she continues. She’s managed to get dressed so quickly Steve’s kinda amazed. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay and, you know, you are. You were. It was… It was good. Really good, Cap.” It belatedly occurs to him that that’s the first time she’s referred to him by his call-sign name. “So I guess I’ll let myself out,” she’s saying, “And you can get on with your evening… Got paperwork to do and all that shit…”

And with that she makes her way down the stairs to her lobby, leaving Steve with the feeling that it’s not only his living room table he’s trashed. Not only his encounter with Belova he’ll need to deal with when he finally watches the sun rise. He sits in the dark and stares after her for about three hours and sleep doesn’t come at all, his mind still in tumult. The memory of this night on replay, a new trauma to mix in with the memories of the Jean Grey School. But in the early morning light he finds a card he hasn't read in a while. Calls an old friend he thinks can help. Because he may have screwed up but he doesn't have to leave things there-

_And fortunately for him, Esme tells him she agrees._


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Switch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I have very limited internet access at the moment so apologies about the delay in getting this updated. As always thanks for their reviews go to Inkandash, sara47q, Notashamed, mariposa and roz1013. Cheers lads. Enjoy the next.

_Disclaimer:_ This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SWITCH**

“Tell me everything.”

And Esme grins at Steve, her chin perched on her hand. Her omnipresent bottle of still water at her elbow, an untouched salad at its side. They’re in the same place they first met, their waiter looking warily at a stony-faced Steve, his opinion of Steve’s ordered but uneaten burger obvious. The flirtatious smile Esme shot him softening him not at all. Outside the traffic hums and rattles, an annoyance to Steve like everything else today-But then, he didn’t sleep last night and he’s afraid he really hurt Darcy. He’s been reminded of Belova and tortured by Loki.

And that being the case he supposes everything would irritate him.

_But he asked this woman here; The least he can do is answer her._

He just doesn’t know where to start.

As the silence stretches out he watches Esme’s expression turn serious. She must guess from his reaction to her statement that he’s having trouble explaining. He opens his mouth a couple of times and then closes it, unable to summon the words. Stares at his hands, the table-cloth cool beneath his pressing palm. Forces himself to let the tension flow out of his fingers, the knuckles white with tension though his fingers are straightened. Eventually Esme reaches out and quite matter-of-factly presses her hand to his. The pressure is a relief and for a moment he closes his eyes, aware that there’s another beautiful brunette he wishes were touching him but happy that his, his… friend? Is here too. Esme takes a small quiet breath, presses his hand once more and then pulls away. Signals to the server and tells him to bring her two glasses of scotch.

“Won’t work,” he says, and his voice sounds rusty. “I can’t- Alcohol doesn’t effect me.”

_Just another thing Uncle Sam’s Made Up Man can’t do._

Esme gives a wry chuckle. “Whoever said either of those were for you, Steven?” She indicates the two glasses, which have appeared, like magic, at her elbow. “I might just be having a very bad day.”

And without fanfare she downs both, one after the other. It’s impressive.

Steve raises an eyebrow at her. “What sort of a bad day are you having?”

Her grin is wry. “Well, a friend of mine called last night sounding most disturbed and now he won’t even say a word to me.” She leans in, mock-confiding. “I’m worried about the poor dear, to tell you the truth.”

His expression hardens. “Maybe your friend doesn’t deserve your worry.”

“Oh no, darling, I’m sure he does.” She leans back, her look calculating. “Believe me, if this one had actually done something amiss it would severely undermine my faith is an ordered universe,”

And she grins cheekily. Despite himself Steve gives her a small, tired smile, finally relaxing a little in his chair. She signals their server and the man brings over the scotch bottle, placing it on their table and then melting away. Steve’s dubious but Esme pours him three fingers of the stuff, nudging the glass towards him. He takes it, sipping it slowly, savouring the burn of the liquor though he knows it won’t have its intended effect. Esme simply sits there, letting him wait. Letting him decide what to tell her. It’s her patience that finally does it.

_That and the fact that he can’t stop thinking about what happened between him and Darcy last night._

“I found that little bird we talked about last time,” he begins softly then.

He finds himself staring at the scotch, unwilling to look up from it.

_If he stops talking about this, he’s afraid he’ll never try again._

“Her name’s Darcy. Darcy Lewis. She’s… She’s wonderful.” Terribly, epically wonderful.

Esme’s tone is encouraging. “See, I told you birds of a feather flock together. I’m happy for you, my perverted romantic.” A pause. “Though I’m guessing that things haven’t been exactly clear sailing lately, have they?”

“No.” Another useless sip of scotch. “No, they haven’t.” He sighs, closes his eyes for a moment. He knows it’s an illusion but he feels… tired. _Not for the first time he feels old_. “I- There was an incident, I lost control. Got compromised by a hostile.” His eyes flash open and he looks at Esme. “It’s need to know, you don’t have clearance-”

Esme hold up her hand in placation. “I remember the procedure from my sessions with Tasha. You needn’t worry, I won’t pry.”

He nods, more to himself than to her, and takes that as his cue to continue. Once again Esme leans her chin on her hand. “Well, you might say the incident had some fallout,” he says. “I- I got kinda upset and I did something I really shouldn’t have and now-” He makes himself take a deep breath- “Now I don’t know what to do about it.

What to do about me and her.”

Her voice is soft. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Steve shakes his head, his voice deserting him, and Esme shifts her chair closer to his. “Come on, Steven,” she says. “It can’t be as bad as all that. I know if it’s you it can’t be.”

He looks down at his lap. He feels… He doesn’t know what he feels. Confused, certainly. Reticent. Ashamed, that he didn’t… _Didn’t what?_ What exactly did he think was missing last night? Because Darcy didn’t tell him to stop. She’s didn’t push him away or anything. She even said it was good, though he didn’t really believe her then and he doesn’t believe her now. And yet…He knows that something wasn’t right between them that last time, knows it as sure as he knows his own name. You don’t feel like he felt and look like she looked if everything was damn well fine. So he looks up at his companion’s encouraging face and steels himself to talk about the sort of thing nice young men like him never talk about. At least not out loud with a lady present.

“I fucked her on my kitchen table,” he says quietly, and his voice is flat. Emotionless. “I fucked her and I think I hurt her and it felt really weird afterwards and now I don’t know what to do.”

Esme raises her eyebrows in surprise. It doesn’t look like an expression she wears very often. “So you- You were the dominant partner, Steven?” she asks him.  
He nods. “This time I was, yes.”

“And were you the dominant partner every other time you were together?”

He purses his lips and shakes his head, unwilling to speak for a moment. “No,” he says eventually. “The other times… The other times she tied me.” He swallows. “She… She led me. The other times, _she_ took care of _me_.”

“But this time you took care of her.” It’s only sort-of-a-question.

_He doesn’t have sort-of-an-answer._

“No,” he says bitterly. “No, I didn’t.”

_And as soon as he says the words out loud he knows that this is what’s wrong, this is what’s troubling him._

Because he feels like somehow he stole something from Darcy last night; Despite her attempts to run and her nerves and her running hot and cold she’d always given him what they’d both wanted, and all Steve felt he had done when he was hurting was take, take, take. His realisation must show on his face because Esme reaches out and touches his hand again, the pat strangely comforting. Her hands feel cool and elegant against his, and again he lets the touch soothe his nerves.

“Breakthrough?” she asks softly and he nods, not really able to talk yet.

_He only knows there’s a lump of emotion in him that suddenly has a name._

“I think… I think I understand what happened,” he says slowly. “I think I understand why I didn’t- why we didn’t- connect the way we normally do.” And he shakes his head in confusion, not sure how to say this. Knowing only that if he’s to explain it to Darcy then he should probably be able to explain it to Esme first. “I- The hostile, you might say he messed with my perceptions. Made me dance a little, like a puppet on a string.” He looks down at his hands. “It wasn’t the first time either, and I didn’t react well. I wasn’t thinking about her, I was only thinking about me.”

Esme raises her eyebrows; her expression shrewd. She looks like she’s had a breakthrough herself. “So you’ve had someone take away your control before?” Steve nods. “And it’s happened more than once?” He nods at that too. “Well, that would explain things.” At his surprised expression she leans in, her voice confiding and soft. It means Steve has to duck closer to hear her but that’s probably what she wants. “Handing over your control is something that you’re comfortable with, Steven,” she says softly. “Having it taken from you- forced away- is something nobody would expect you to enjoy. And wanting to take back that control- That is something you are absolutely entitled to do.” Her tone is fierce as she says it. 

“Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.”

He opens his mouth to protest but she speaks over him. She squeezes his hand a little to take the sting out of it but it doesn’t stop her talking. “Your little bird, your Darcy- Does she ever force you to do anything?”

He shakes his head. “No.” _And he doesn’t think it’s because she probably physically can’t._

“And does she listen to you, make sure of your pleasure in the act, take care of you, as you put it?”

Again he nods. She does all that. _It’s one of the reasons he likes what they do together so much._

“Well then it seems to me that you’ve found yourself a very fine mistress, Steven. Someone who doesn’t take, someone who gives you something back. Many who become involved in the lifestyle can be motivated by the desire to exploit others but your Darcy sounds like she genuinely cares about you.” The tips of his ears turn- mortifyingly- pink and he looks away but Esme doesn’t stop talking. “The only problem is that when you- understandably- tried to take your control back after this last incident, you did it in a way she didn’t expect.” She shoots him a matter-of-fact look this time. “And judging by your reaction, I’m guessing that you didn’t ask her to switch in advance.”

He looks up at that. “Switch?”

Esme nods, looking mildly amused. “Yes, switch. That’s what you and she did the last time, you enacted a switch. It’s when the submissive and dominant partner change roles for a while, a way to see how the other half lives, if you will.” This time her smile is wider. “It’s perfectly, well, I don’t like the word normal, but it’s perfectly usual. Some couples do it all the time, some every once in a while. But it’s not a shooting offence and it’s not out of order. It’s just… Just something people like to try, and after what happened to you I’m not particularly surprised it seemed like an attractive idea.

You should probably just have discussed it with your Darcy first.”

As she says the words Steve’s mind flashes back to that moment when he picked Darcy up and forced her onto the table. All that had mattered to him in that moment had been having his own way- reasserting control. Convincing himself that nobody- not Loki, not Belova, not even Darcy- were in charge of him, that he was in charge of himself. The need for it had obliterated everything else, even his desire to please his partner, to make sure she enjoyed it too. That was why it had felt so weird, so, so… selfish. Because Steve had never thought about only himself in the moment, and he suspects he picked a real doozy of a time to take it up. His train of thought must at least partially show on his face because he can see Esme nodding. She looks almost like a proud school teacher and the notion seems to ridiculous to him that for the first time since Westchester he laughs.

“You see what I’m saying?” she asks quietly then, and he nods.

“Yeah, I think I understand it. I get why I did it and why it seemed so weird. But Darcy- She was really upset by it, you’re not going to convince me otherwise.” He looks up at Esme. “You’re the Oracle of Perversity, Esme: What am I going to do about that?”

This time’s Esme’s expression is more sombre. For a long moment she stares at him without saying a word. And then… “I think you’re asking the wrong bombshell that question, Steven,” she says gently.

For a moment he’s confused and then it hits him in the face.

“I’m going to have to talk to her, aren’t I?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Tell her how sorry I am.”

Esme nods. “Yes, you are. At the very least you’ll have to ask her why it bothered her so much and how you can both avoid it again.” She sighs. “Though truth be told, if you can be this honest with me I suspect you’ll be fine with her. Just…” She shrugs. “Just be honest with her, Steven.

Be as honest with her as you can be, and I suspect it will be alright.”

And with that she rises, going to pay the bill though this time Steve beats her. Manages to get the fifty onto the table while she’s still reaching for her purse. She smiles at the gesture and reaches up, pressing a kiss to his cheek and murmuring something about him being her favourite perverted romantic. Allowing him to pull her chair out for her and taking his arm as they stroll out of the coffee shop. They walk away, still talking, relief that he has a plan of action flooding through Steve- 

While, unseen and unnoticed, Darcy watches the kiss and then turns and slips from the café. 

Unseen and unnoticed, Darcy walks back to the Avengers’ Tower, her feet moving as slowly as if they were made out of lead. 


	19. Chapter Nineteen: Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again lads, my internet time is quite limited but I had to post this. I know it's short but it's necessary and the next one will be longer. Just had to get this out of the way first. As always thanks for their reviews go to inkandash, nyx_girl, notashamed, blackglass and pyrzqxgl: hope you enjoy this. Entering the home stretch now...

_Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine._

**CHAPTER NINETEEN: BOYS**

_Darcy’s kinda proud of herself for making it back to the Avengers’ Tower before she starts to cry._

_And she’s especially proud since she doesn’t really remember how she does it._

A cab may have been involved, she’s not certain. _She’s not really certain of much after she entered the coffee shop Jarvis had assured her Steve was at._ She does know that she wouldn’t have actually gotten into the building if Mrs. Kerensky- the cleaning lady- hadn’t found her standing on the pavement outside and let her in. Darcy staring at the access pass in her hands like they could tell the future. The older woman buzzing her through and going to the trouble of walking her up to her office, murmuring softly that she’s sure whatever’s happened won’t feel so bad in the morning as Darcy goes inside. It seemed such a strange, old-fashioned thing to do that for a moment Darcy’s mind went to Steve, the thought of him a strange, dull ache inside her. The memory of seeing him with someone else- _someone gorgeous, someone elegant_ \- setting something far more painful than it should be twisting in her chest.

And yet, there the pain is, and it leaves her feeling bewildered.

_She doesn’t understand her own reaction to something which was, she’s pretty certain, what she’d been saying she wanted ever since they first got it together._

Because, after all, it’s not like it’s the first time she’s had rough sex on a table with a guy she barely knows. It’s not even like it’s the first time she’s seen him the next day with someone else even though he didn’t see her. _She’s been there, done that, and bought the t-shirt. Boasted about it to her friends and shared it as a status on Facebook._ And yet… This time, it hurts. It _really_ hurts. This time it feels like a massive fucking deal. Darcy knows that she shouldn’t be upset, knows that she and Steve have never had the “are we exclusive?” conversation and that even if they had she would have told him no. Knows that guys are guys and naturally players, that you can’t expect anything else from them so why the fuck even try? And yet that knowledge doesn’t help with this, this knot of hurt in her stomach. In fact it makes her feel worse somehow. Because it’s one thing to encounter that sort of behaviour from a douche like Brett- _you expect it, you prepare, and then you move on_ \- But Steve? **_Steve?_** She thought-

 _You thought what_ , a sarcastic voice in her head chimes, _That he was different?_

_You thought that because he lets you do what you want in the bedroom that he’ll be any different when he’s outside?_

**_Think again, little girl._ **

And that’s the kicker in this, Darcy realises: She’d started to think that Steve _was_ different. That… That she could be herself with him and that he’d like her enough to care about more than her bra size and how her ass looked in a dress. That he’d like her just as she was and not as he wanted her to be. That even when he was inside her last night and she felt so upset by it, that somehow they’d make their way through it, figure out what was going on and make it right. _And that_ , she tells herself, _is clearly nuts_. Happy endings like her finally finding a man she wanted to be with who treated her with respect were about as realistic a goal as her becoming one of the Avengers. _No, scratch that, about as realistic as her turning into the Hulk._ Inwardly Darcy can feel herself curling in on herself, becoming more defensive. That girl she’s been ever since she handed Steve her belt and realised she liked what he wanted her to do with it starting to melt away. Because after all, if she wanted to start thinking like that then she might as well go the whole hog and start believing in fairies and unicorns and the crock of gold at the end of the rainbow-

 _And it was a crock thinking this thing with Steve would work out, little girl,_ she tells herself.

_Boys like that do not exist for girls like you._

As she goes through that train of thought Darcy finds herself sitting up straighter. The fog of hurt shed been lost in ever since she left the coffee shop finally starting to dissipate and melt away. Because now she knows what to do, how to reassert control. _How to fix this._ She knows what’s necessary to set herself back on the right path, what’s going to make this ache go away. Her own stupidity in expecting something different is at fault but she knows the cure for that. It’s called a short dress and a lot of tequila and a phone-call to an old friend. It’s called fucking someone else on a table-top and not letting it hurt that you feel alone even when he’s inside you. It’s called forgetting all about the last few days and Steven fucking Grant fucking Rogers. And with that in mind she pulls out her phone and brings up an old number. Pastes a smile on her face as she dials and lets it ring.

“What up?” the voice on the other end says and it sounds pissed off. Distracted.

“Hey, Brett,” Darcy says and her voice doesn’t even sound like it’s hers. It sounds like someone’s doing a bad impression of a playboy bunny who might, once upon a time, have been Darcy Angela Lewis.

_For some reason she can’t even fathom, that thought depresses the Hell out of her._

Not that Brett cares though. She can hear his interest on the end of the line, imagine the way he’d look at her if he were here and heard her tone. Little Brett’s in charge, by the sound of things, and she has to push away the unwanted remembrance that this ex has a live-in girlfriend and a kid.

“Why are you calling me, Darcy?” he asks, and there’s just enough tension in his drawl to tell her he’s faking being uninterested. “Thought you and Captain Stick-Up-His-Ass had sailed off into the sunset and left me in the dust.”

Again that voice that’s not really hers. “What can I say? Good boys get real boring, real fast.” She grins wickedly. “Not that you’d know anything about that.”

He’s smiling into the handset too, she can hear it. “I am a bad boy, aren’t I?” he’s saying, using his best player tone.

_It makes Darcy feel slightly sick to her stomach._

“One of the worst I know,” she answers him and she knows she’s never said a truer word in her life. “Though that’s what I always liked about you. In fact, that’s why I called.”

And with that she names a bar three minutes’ walk from the Avengers’ Tower, the sort of place nobody she knows would be caught dead in but that she’ll be noted going into, even if nobody follows. Well aware of what she’s implying will happen, well aware that she’s not gonna be waking up in her own bed tomorrow no matter where she ends up tonight. Brett knows the place, names a time about thirty minutes from now and hangs up. His eagerness telling Darcy that he’s really been waiting for this bootie call. That he’s always known she’d fall back on old habits, give him another chance.

So she pulls the change of clothes she keeps in work out, pins her hair up. Reapplies her makeup, going heavier on her lips and eyes until she barely looks like herself at all. Pulls on a pair of fuck-me heels she keeps for just such an occassion occasion, having to forcefully push away the thought that she’d never felt she had to wear them with Steve. Pushing away the memory of that first night she bound him, the feel of his lips pressed against her feet, the sound of his voice whispered against her skin. _That never happened,_ she tells herself. _It never happened to you_. And then she sets out for the bar and her path back to control, her heart still heavy though she tells herself she has not idea why-

She doesn’t notice it but, stealthy as two shadows, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanova watch her exit the building.

They say nothing but twenty-five minutes later, when she exits the bar with a tazer in her hand and a black eye, noticeably sans Brett, she’s awfully glad they’re there.


	20. Chapter Twenty: Paragon

_Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine._

**CHAPTER TWENTY: PARAGON**

Steve’s on his way back to the Avengers’ Tower when he gets the call.  
  
It’s terse, blunt and to the point, kind of like the woman who makes it.

“You should get back here, Styiopa,” Natasha tells him, her use of his Russian name cluing him into the fact that she’s rattled. “There’s been an incident.”

And with that Tasha, being Tasha, hangs up.

Now for an Avenger, “there’s been an incident,” can mean anything from “Fury’s discovered that Tony’s been stealing his tea and we need you to mediate,” to “The Chituari have decided to join us for round two and downtown Manhattan now looks like a war zone.” And given the fact that Loki very nearly got loose a couple of days ago Steve’s not inclined to assume the best of the situation, so he makes his way back to the Tower in double quick time. He only has time to dart in the door and make his way to the executive levels, already preparing himself to hear the worst and wondering whether the suit has been repaired from his last bout with Loki when Jarvis informs him that he’s expected in Clint’s guest suite.

It seems a strange place for a meeting but he doesn’t really have time to think about it, and he already knows where his team-mate stays when he’s in the Tower. (Walking a guy who’s kicked your ass in hand-to-hand back to his place from the gym will do that.) When he gets to the door he finds it open, the lights turned down lower than he expected and the room, for a moment, appearing completely empty. But then he realises that he’s been mistaken, that there is someone there, asleep on Clint’s couch. It’s Darcy, her face smeared with tears and mascara, her tazer still held in her hand. She’s been wrapped in a coat he recognises as Tasha’s and set in front of the fireplace, her small frame huddled deep in the massive couch on which she lays, three pillows tucked under her head. At the sight of her injury Steve instinctively moves into the room, his only thought his girl and why on Earth she’s crying like that-

And as he does so he realises two things simultaneously.

One, that Darcy is nursing a black eye, the sort of massive shiner he hasn’t had to deal with since Project Rebirth, as well as a cut on her chin.

And two, that the door to Clint’s room has swung shut of its own accord and locked itself, leaving he and Darcy prisoners in Hawkeye’s quarters with no visible way to get out.

“Apologies, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis’ voice sounds then, “But I have been told to secure you in this location until further notice. Agent Romanova and Agent Barton were most particular on this point, and asked that I urge you not to escape.”

At the AI’s words Steve leans back and tries the door-handle but it doesn’t budge. It’s not like he really expected it to- But he tries all the same. Jarvis’ voice jolts Darcy out of her sleep and she opens her eyes, her face scrunching up in a cute little frown as she sits up. Her eyes go to Steve and they widen before, unaccountably, dropping down to stare at her lap. At the sight of her awake Steve’s interest in the door disappears; He might not know what to say to her yet but he’s sure as Hell not going to ignore her when she knows he’s here. Without a word he pads over to the couch, already planning on what he’ll do about that black eye at least. The mystery of why Clint and Tasha have locked them in here tabled for another time now that his girl’s awake and needs his help.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, dropping down on the couch beside her, “Want me to take a look at that?”

But as soon as he reaches out to touch her Darcy twists away.

The rejection hits him like a punch in the gut, the pain of it surprising. It’s like suddenly Rebirth never happened, like he’s back to being that helpless, scrawny kid nobody wanted again. But then he remembers the look on her face the last time he saw her and he forces himself not to engage with that reaction. She might have pushed a pretty big one of his buttons but he can’t say he blames her for it, not after how he treated her the other night. As if reading his reaction Darcy reaches for him, opening her mouth to apologise, but the moment she makes contact with his shirt- her fingers dig in so tightly they pinch- she seems not to know what to say. They both just stare at each other, not sure what’s happening, not sure how to even begin the conversation.

And then suddenly Darcy starts crying again, the tears weirdly silent and hopeless.

There’s only one thing Steve can do to that and he does it: He picks her up and drags her into his lap and wraps his arms around her. Tight.

For a little while she just sobs, gasping and muttering under her breath too quickly for him to make anything out. He can smell the liquor on her, can see how unfocussed her eyes are and it’s not too great a leap to realise she’s drunk. But she holds onto him as tightly as she can and gradually she seems to quieten down. By the time she’s only sniffling Steve decides to try to touch her again, and this time she doesn’t pull back. Instead she closes her eyes and leans into the hand as he strokes her face, trying to find the centre of the bruising. She hisses in pain but won’t move away from him as he does it, and when he tells her not to press so hard- “I don’t want to hurt you, doll,”- she shakes her head, presses even harder.

“Want you to touch me,” she mutters and her voice is slurred. “Want to make the most of it-”

Steve frowns. “Why would you want to do that?” he asks her gently. “You’re going to have plenty of other opportunities-”

She turns those massive, navy blue eyes on him and his heart damn near cracks in his chest at the sorrow in them. “No, I won’t,” she whispered. Again her gaze drops to her lap.

“Not after you find out what I tried to do.”

For a moment she’s silent and then the story just starts to pour out of her. Seeing him with Esme, how much it hurt her. The assumptions she made when she witnessed that little peck on the cheek and misconstrued it. How she wasn’t angry with him, she was angry with herself for expecting anything different. Angry with herself for doing something so stupid to get her own back when she knew she should have just talked to him. As he listens Steve feels his worry grow, an anger he’s not entirely sure he understands unfurling within him. He can’t really guess where all this is going but the sense of dread is getting impossible to ignore. And then she gets to the part where Brett tried to take her into the bathroom cubicle in the bar, tried to talk her into going down on him-

And at that she starts crying in earnest, her shoulders shaking in her distress.

“I couldn’t do it,” she’s saying. “I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to and it didn’t feel right anymore and I didn’t want him, I realised I wanted you…”

Steve can hear the anger in his voice but he can’t control it. A suspicion’s been playing in his mind this whole time, he realises, and suddenly he can see what it is. “Is that where you got the black eye?” he demands, his grip on her tightening though he can’t seem to help it. “Did that sonofabitch raise a hand to you, Darcy?”

She shakes her heads, her shoulders still quaking. “No. No, he just started screaming at me and calling me names. Saying I was asking for it, saying I was leading him on and had to follow through. Calling me a cock-tease and a slut.” She hiccups through her tears, her eyes huge and solemn.

“That’s why I tazed his ass,” she says.

Some weird mix of anger and…relief goes through Steve then. _It’s not like he’s exactly happy with this story but so long as Brett didn’t actually try to hurt her then he supposes he can deal._ “So you tazered him and he let you go, right?” he asks.

Finally Darcy looks at him. “Not exactly.” She’s worrying her lip now, though at least the tears have stopped. “I- Well, I went to leave and he grabbed me,” she continues. “We were both kinda drunk and he lunged too hard and we both smacked our heads into the restroom door.” She looks down, studying her hands again, and shrugs. For some strange reason she seems more… embarrassed than anything else. “I’ve learned to take a blow, Steve,” she tells him eventually. “You have to in my line of work. But Brett? He went down like a sack of potatoes. It was almost funny…. You know, if he hadn’t have been such an asshole beforehand. But then one of the bargirls came in and saw him lying on his back, me standing over him with the tazer and- Well, she screamed the place down. Which is when Tash and Clint came to my rescue, hustled me outta there and I assume called you.” She drags a hand through her hair, her expression suddenly worried.

“Hill is gonna kill me,” she mutters. “I’m so dead.”

Steve’s voice is fierce as he answers her. “She’d have to go through me first.”

For a moment Darcy blinks at him and he can see it in her face, she’s genuinely shocked by his reaction. She thought… She thought he’d just up and leave her, Steve realises. _She thought that one dumb decision would be enough to get rid of him, that he’d just give up on her and go._ He’s had this reaction before, the assumption that because he comes from another time he’s going to enjoy judging other people. That he’ll expect them to be as much as a paragon as they think he is, and if they fail to live up to it he’ll turn his back and walk away. It’s annoying when Tony or Clint do it but from Darcy it’s actually… _hurtful._

_After all, they might not talk much but he thought they knew one another better than **that**._

The pain must be obvious on his face because he sees the moment the penny drops for her, sees the horror and then guilt flit across her own expression. She reaches out to touch him and this time he’s the one who wants to pull away. But he doesn’t, because deep down he knows he doesn’t want to, and because deep down he knows he’s hardly been a paragon where she’s concerned. After all, he’s the one who dragged her onto that coffee table the other night, he’s the one who pushed himself inside her and took, not caring what she wanted so long as he could lose himself inside her and the oblivion she brings.

So when her hand comes to rest on his shoulder he makes himself look her in the eye, makes himself not move away from her.

The two of them stare at one another as the silence stretches out.

“I thought you’d hate me,” she says eventually , her voice hesitant and tiny. “I- Jesus, Steve, what I did was so stupid. I only saw how dumb it was when Brett was trying to pull me into that stall…”

Steve shakes his head, not wanting to listen to more. _The thought of that sonofabitch trying to force Darcy into doing something is not the sort of thing that’s going to enhance his calm._ “I’d never hate you,” he says, and even as the words leave his mouth he knows he means them. “You have to believe me, Darcy. I- There’s nothing you could do by accident that would make me hate you.” He swallows. _Here comes the hard part._

“And it’s not like you don’t have the right to be angry at me.”

For a moment she doesn’t understand, just continues staring at him. There’s something new in her expression now though, something that almost looks… closed. “But you said that you and that Esme woman weren’t doing anything,” she says slowly. “You said- You said you were only friends.” She moves away from him as she says it and Steve can practically see the worry whirling through her brain: She’s suspicious. But he can’t let her stay there, thinking _that_.

_He’s just not entirely sure what to say._

“We _are_ friends, me and Esme,” he tells her softly. “I think some day we’re going to be very close. But…” He huffs out a puff of breath, surprised he’s going to have to say this. “But she’s not- I mean, if I were going to stick with a dame then that dame’d be you Darcy.” Despite his embarrassment he makes himself look at her. “Surely you can see that.”

 _But she doesn’t see it, that much is obvious._ “So why do you think I’d be angry at you then?” she murmurs, and as she speaks she braces herself the way she does when she’s expecting a physical blow in training.

Her expression hasn’t eased and he takes a deep breath, forces himself to say it.

_If he doesn’t say this now he’s worried he never will._

“Because,” he says softly, “the other night I made you to do something you didn’t want to do.” He swallows. “The other night- you and me- You can’t pretend to me that you wanted that-”

Again silence descends for a moment but this time it’s expected. Darcy’s staring at him, opening her mouth and then closing it, eyes dark and liquid and narrowed with something he can’t quite read. “I told you that was fun,” she says eventually, and if her voice was small before, now it’s minuscule. Her body has gone stiff as a board. “You didn’t- I agreed to that, Steve. I’d have told you if I didn’t.” She shakes her head, more to herself than anything. “You didn’t force me to do anything. I’d- I didn’t say no-”

“But you didn’t say yes, either.” Steve feels like he’s dragging the words out from deep within him but they need to be said. If he doesn’t bring this out into the open he’s afraid he’ll never put it behind him, he’s afraid that night will always be between them and they’ll never move on. “In fact, you didn’t say anything at all. Which, for someone who talks as much as you do, was pretty darn weird, Darcy. Just like the way you reacted was pretty darn weird too…”

She narrows her eyes. Now she looks insulted. _Or maybe she’s going to try to pick a fight again so she doesn’t have to deal._ “Why?” she demands. “Because I didn’t act like some little prissy princess when you picked me up and fucked me the same way everyone else has? You think I couldn’t have enjoyed what we did together? You think I’m some frightened little girl?”

He winces at the profanity. _This conversation is starting to feel like a runaway train._ “I don’t think you’re a little girl, frightened or otherwise,” he says. _His own anger, egged on by worry and embarrassment, is starting to get the better of him_. “And I don’t think not wanting an encore of that night would make you a prissy princess, as you put it, any more than I think it would make you weird.” He takes a deep breath, tries to steady himself. He has to make her see. “But the thing of it is, Darcy, _I_ didn’t like what I did to you. _I_ didn’t like the way I treated you. Even if I was- even if I wasn’t myself that’s no excuse.” And he hangs his head, even as he forces himself to say it to her.

“There’s no reason I could possibly come up with to excuse what I did.”

Suddenly though, as quickly as it’s come her anger’s dissipated. Something else, something a lot kinder and gentler is moving through her eyes now. “You didn’t need an excuse, Steve,” she says softly and this time she does reach out, her fingers twining gently around his cheek. “I saw what Loki did to you… I understand that you- you needed to get out of your head for a while.” She looks down, the words barely audible. For a moment she looks so very young that his heart nearly cracks in his chest again. “I know what that feels like,” she’s murmuring, “to just need a break from who you are…” She smiles, a little sad, a little melancholy. “I know how that feels very well.”

He looks up, hopeful. He can’t believe it could be that easy. “So, we’re good?” he asks and when she nods he has to smile at her.

“Yeah, of course we are soldier.” Her smile is still slightly sad and now it’s turned bittersweet. “And I’ll get used to you being in charge after a while,” she continues, wrapping one of his hands in both of hers. “I’m totally sure I will-”

Steve blinks. “But what makes you think I’d want… What makes you assume that?”

This time she’s the one who looks confused. “Wasn’t that what that night was about? You wanting to- to go back to the way regular people do it?” For a moment the way she says _do it_ makes Steve feel about fifteen years old again. But he shakes his head.

“No, Darce,” he says softly, “I don’t… I like what we do together. That night was just about, just about taking some of my control back, it wasn’t about losing you altogether or changing what we do…”

This time her smile is brilliant. “So you don’t- You still… You want me the way you’ve always wanted me?” He has to smile at the joy and relief in her expression. “You’re still my soldier?”

He nods. “And you’re still my ma’am.”

She lets out what can only be described as a squeal of delight then and throws her arms around him. After a moment the hug turns into… well, it turns into something a lot more enjoyable and a lot less ladylike though Steve finds he doesn’t have it in him to object. As she presses him down into the couch he grins, amazed and delighted at how this evening has turned out. Wondering whether he can persuade Jarvis not to open the room to Clint and Tasha for the rest of the evening…

He needn’t have worried though. Because the two spies turn off their listening devices, nod in satisfaction at how their intervention has come off-

And then they high-five one another and head off to Tasha’s bed. "We really need to find you a new hobby," Clint tells Tasha as they go. 

She grins at him. "Why? All my other hobbies get you shot at." She reaches down and pats his ass comfortingly. "Clearly this is better, yes, lover?"

And Clint finds he has to agree. 


	21. Chapter Twenty-One: Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long lads, work is mental right now. As always I hope you enjoy it and I'd like to thank inkandash, basaltone, ChristinaK, notashamed, sal101010 and mariposa for their reviews. Please note that this is not the last chapter but the second last, and I may end up doing an epilogue too; that said I hope you enjoy Steve and Darcy's return to funsexytimes. And with that said, let's get on with the story...
> 
> Hobbits away, hey!

_Disclaimer_ : This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: SAFE**

_As it turns out, Steve doesn’t really have it in him to have hot monkey sex on someone **else’s** couch. _

_And that being the case, their make out/makeup session quickly runs out of steam._

It’s not that he seems to mind the shmexing, Darcy thinks, so much as the notion that a) Hawkeye might want his living room back or b) Tony might be watching using Jarvis. And that’s not even factoring in the issues their respective height differences and the size of the couch bring into play. But whatever it is, after a few minutes of fun and, frankly, fairly tame play-time, he brings their adventure on the couch to a halt. Pulling her into his lap but not kissing her. Righting her clothes even as he holds her tight. Darcy pouts and tries to slide her hands under his shirt again but it seems like he’s just not biting-

Much to her delight, however, it turns out that he _does_ have it in him to pick her up, carry her down to street level, put her in a cab and take her to his place.

Which is, y’know, _awesome_.

_Because if there’s one thing Darcy has proved in the last few days, it’s that there’s **no end** to the mischief she can wreak once she gets inside his apartment. _

He keeps her seated in his lap most of the way there, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist like an anchor. His lips whispering soft, sweet things in her ear as the cab winds its way across town. When he finally gets her into his apartment he carries her to his bed and puts her under the covers. Takes time to gently pull her clothes, shoes and socks off- _he presses two soft kisses to her feet as he does it_ \- before stripping down to his t-shirt and climbing in beside her. For a moment Darcy doesn’t quite know what to do, unused to the idea that she could share a bed with someone who doesn’t appear to expect sex from her. The thought that they’re finally somewhere _she’s_ never been before setting the beginnings of panic fluttering in her chest. But then he kisses her once, very softly, on the forehead and tells her to go to sleep. Tells her she can just rest now, that they’ll have plenty of time for fun in the morning.

“I don’t wanna,” she whines, and she wishes she couldn’t hear the slight, drunken slur in her voice as she says it.

“Indulge me, ma’am,” he says, and, not for the first time she realises, he manages to make it sound like an endearment. Reaching in to whisper the rest, his big, heavy hands fitting themselves to her hips and pulling her into him. Tight.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers, “ _when you’re sober_ , you can-” he takes a deep breath, forces himself to say the dirty words- “you can fuck me three ways til Sunday. I’ll beg you not to stop, and I’ll beg you to make me beg some more. But tonight…” He pulls back and presses a kiss to her nose. His gaze is strangely serious. “Tonight, just let me sleep with you beside me. Please, Darcy. I- I’ve taken enough advantage of you already, don’t let me do it again while you’re drunk.”

 _So that’s what this is about_. She reaches up and kisses him, very softly. “But I’m not drunk, at least not anymore,” she tells him. “The idea that I was going to have to tell you what I did with Brett was more than enough to get me sober, let me tell you…”

He shakes his head mulishly. “But that’s just it. That stuff with Brett, that stuff with me and Esme. You’ve had one rough night; I already gave you another. You don’t need to-”

“But I want to.” She speaks over him. “I want to very fucking much. I’ve been without you for days, Steve: Don’t ask me to do without you tonight, now we’re finally starting to get our shit together. Cos that’s cruel and unusual punishment, is what that is.”

He looks unconvinced but she presses her advantage. If he genuinely doesn’t want to do anything that’s okay, but she’s not going without him just because he’s still shook up about the other night. “Look, you say you don’t want to take advantage of me,” she murmurs. “Well then _don’t_ take advantage: Give- Give me something. Everything. Give me what I want.” She takes a deep breath, tries to put it in terms he’ll understand. “Take care of me, Steve… Please...Take care of me.”

She gulps. “That’s all I really want right now, if you wanna know the truth.”

He looks up, the movement quick and sudden. Clearly she’s said something he really likes. “Do you mean that?” he asks. “Do you- Do you want me to take care of you?” And his voice has this deep, husky quality to it that she associates with tying him up. His pupils dilated, breath shallow and fast. It’s like those words are what he’s been waiting for ever since that night after Westchester. It’s- _It’s pretty damn hot, is what it is_. Because suddenly Darcy realises that this is what he’s been needing to hear from her ever since Loki messed with his head so royally. Suddenly that shit on his kitchen table the other night makes sense.

 _He needs to take his control back_ , she realises, _but he doesn’t want to just use me to do it this time._

And _that_ she can work with. _That_ she can understand.

_That’s the reason that he’s her soldier and she’s his ma’am._

Her heart begins thudding with excitement. “Do you want to take care of me?” she asks, and he nods, looking… eager. Happy. She can feel the anticipation shivering through his frame, the same way it does when he’s asking her to bind him. On seeing her agree he leans over her, one hand on her shoulder, pressing her gently into the mattress. Kisses her forehead, then her lips, his mouth trailing down over her collar bone to press a soft kiss against the underside of her breast, over her bra. His other hand trailing softly up to stroke her face. She’s not sure how he can do that so- so sweetly, when it should come off as pushy and controlling. But somehow with him, that’s not how it feels.

“This okay for you, ma’am?” he says softly then and she nods. Gulps again, looking down at him. As has happened before, she suddenly feels very vulnerable when she’s in his arms. “You’ll tell me what you need, won’t you?” he asks as he slips open her bra, his mouth teasing her nipple. His other hand stroking, very gently, down her stomach to her panties. Fingers dipping inside, making gasp. Again she nods, excitement squirming inside her, tying her stomach into knots as he suckles against her breast. This feels new. Safe. _**Different.** This feels like it’s hers as much as it’s his. _

“I think… I think I need you to take care of me tonight, soldier,” she says. She actually damn blushes. “And I’ve- I’ve never asked anyone to do that for me before.”

But even as the words leave her mouth she knows they’re true. She’s gone through most every sexual partner she’s ever had making sure she never gets close enough to ask them that. Making sure they never had power over her, they could never abandon her or get her hopes up or her hurt her because she’d gotten attached. But with Steve… Yeah, she’s attached. She’s really damn attached. And she’s really damn okay with it. Because she can trust him with more than just her kink or her body.

_She can trust him with her heart._

Something jolts through her then, a little like an electric shock, a little like the emotional jag you get before you start crying. It’s a feeling she’s not really familiar with but she’s not afraid of it with him here. He must register his reaction because he pauses what he’s doing. Looks up at her with eyebrows raised, clearly asking whether he should carry on. She gulps, nods, not sure why she’s suddenly so emotional. Maybe it’s the fact that she never expected this, or maybe it’s the fact that tomorrow she knows she’ll wake up and be able to take the lead with him again. _That whatever she wants will be okay_. Steve pauses for a moment and then he starts kissing his way back up her body. By the time he reaches her lips he’s wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to his chest. He lays her down, taking his weight on his forearms as he continues kissing her, each one sweet and slightly unpractised and completely unrushed and absolutely awesome.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs against her lips.

“I need… I don’t know what I need.” She twines her fingers through his hair, drags his head down towards hers to kiss him. Scrapes her nails along his shoulders, wraps her legs around his waist. It feels like heaven- _If heaven were an ache that just won’t go away_. “I only know I need you. I need you right now-”

“I’m here,” he says, “I’m right here with you, Darcy-”

She looks up at him, something clicking into place within her. “Then let me show you what I want from you.”

And with that the talking stops.

Because there’s nothing really more they need to say. There’s nothing more to do but feel and taste and show. Darcy reaches down and pulls off her panties and bra, tossing them away from her. She wants to feel his flesh against hers as much as she possibly can, wants the scratch of his hair and the weight of his limbs tangled against hers in every possible way. Holding eye contact she presses a little against his chest, pushing him off her. For a moment he looks kinda worried but he does as she indicates nevertheless, settling himself on his back. Watching her through heavy-lidded eyes. 

And then she raises herself up onto her knees, tucking herself in until her breasts rest on the bed-sheets. Her ass in the air, her body totally exposed to him. More vulnerable than she thinks she’s ever been, but that doesn’t mean she’s not safe. _Because she’s with her soldier, and he’s gonna make sure she’s okay._ Darcy’s always loved this position, the sensation of taking her partner deep, of being practically filled by him. But before it’s always felt like something pushed on her, like something she’s just expected to do. _A dog performing a trick_. But not this time, and not with this man. This time it can be exactly what she needs. It can be exactly what she wants it to be. And with that in mind she drifts one arm along the bed to beckon to Steve. Sees him pad slowly up until he’s right behind her, his brow furrowed with what looks like distress.

“You ever done this one before, soldier?” she asks and her voice is breathless.

Steve shakes his head. He looks… perplexed. “No, ma’am. Heard of it, never gave it a try.” Very gently he strokes the back of one hand down her spine, tracing each vertebrae. His touch is so light it tickles and Darcy’s belly twists into knots. “You’re sure this is what you want, ma’am?” he asks her. “This looks… uncomfortable.”

She smiles. “You get yourself inside me and it won’t feel uncomfortable at all.”

And she manages to take his wrist, tug him towards her. Her smile reassuring him that this- him inside her in this way- is precisely what she needs. At first Steve is hesitant, moving against her with the utmost gentleness. Kissing her neck and shoulders as he tries to fit himself inside her, his breath tickling against her hair, his hands skittishly skating over her hips. But Darcy is impatient, and she knows how good this can feel. She wants him to know it too, wants him to understand just what a gift this can be. So she pushes back against him, lets him widen her, open her out. His cock feeling so good and so wanted at her entrance, teasing her pussy as she tries to take him inside. For a moment he fumbles, unsure of himself, but then-

There’s a hiss of pleasure- _she doesn't know whose_ \- and Steve’s inside her. The knack of pressing into her apparently having been discovered. The feel of her around him something she knows he enjoys. She hears him sigh in bliss as he pushes inside her, feels his hands instinctively grip her hips as he thrusts shallowly for the first time. The sensation of it is wonderful and instinctively she presses back against him, drawing a tiny gasp out of him. His hands tighten on her hips, anchoring her, and after a moment he thrusts again. The feel of him wonderful, the friction of the sheets against her breasts a delicious ache. A rhythm starts up, strong and smooth and steady as they move against one another. The pleasure mounting within Darcy, the joy of finally trusting her partner letting her feel free in a way she’s never really experienced before. Steve leans over her after a moment, his chest pressing against her shoulder-blades, his body arching protectively around hers. One hand pressing down on the bed next to hers, his other wrapping around her waist, hand pressing against her mound. “You’re too far away,” he gasps, “I don’t want you to be far away-”

She twists her head around, careless of the discomfort, unable to resist kissing him. “I’m never far away from you, soldier,” she whispers. “I’m always with you…”

He smiles as he thrusts against her. “And I’m always with you.”

And with that he finally seems to relax into their position, to give into it. His movements becoming stronger and steadier, his grip on her staying firm and tight and sweet. The bed rocks with each push, the headboard banging out a steady rhythm as their pleasure builds. Steve’s gasps mixing with Darcy’s until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. And then it comes, the sudden twist of orgasm, the freefall of its passing. Darcy’s entire body shakes in bliss as she comes for him, her mind going to somewhere quiet and perfect and bright. When she comes back Steve’s turned them both on their sides, his cock still inside her, his arms still around her. He’s holding her so tightly it’s like he’ll never let her go and Darcy realises she doesn’t mind that at all.

“That place you go,” he murmurs. “I wish I could go there with you.”

She strokes her hands along his arms, her body sagging with satiation and delight.

“I might not be able to bring you with me,” she says, “but I can damn well help you get there too, soldier…”

“And I’ll always follow you there, ma’am,” he whispers. 

He kisses her once, very gently, on the lips, and with that he falls asleep. 

 

 


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two: Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to inkandash, mariposa and notashamed for their reviews. This is the penultimate chapter, hope you like it.

_Disclaimer_ : This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: SOLDIER**

Afterwards Darcy drifts into a warm, safe, dreamless sleep. The pain of the last few hours finally leaving her, the fear she’d had knotted in her stomach drifting away. Dreams come but they’re far away and indistinct. Blue eyes and a trickster’s grin. Kids’ screams and a flash of green flesh that might be the Hulk’s. These are the usual images she sleeps through and they no longer faze her; When you spend every day with surrounded by irradiated geniuses and genuine Norse Gods they’re kinda par for the course.

_And besides, she’s sleeping beside her soldier, and that’s always awesome._

_Now that they’ve finally gotten the whole talking-before-sexing-thing down._

But though she sleeps soundly, entirely tired out by what she and Steve did, she can feel something tugging at her, demanding her attention. As she drifts in rest Darcy knows there’s something in the real world she should be concentrating on, someone she needs to see. And as if to confirm her suspicions her eyes flutter open, her brain taking a moment to remember where she is. She doesn’t realise it’s Steve’s place until she hears his worried breathing, feels him shift beside her in the bed, shaking his head in distress. Dim, dawn light filters in through the window beside her, casting shadows on Steve. Making him look like a ghost. “No,” he’s saying, “Shut up, shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about…”

He takes in another sharp breath, starting to thrash a little and it’s this that makes her try to wake him. That which sets alarm buzzing in her chest. Because a thrashing super-hero’s just not the sorta thing it’s safe to be stuck beside…

_And she doesn’t think she’s ever seen her soldier as freaked as this._

“Steve,” she whispers, digging her fingers into his shoulder, “Steve, come on, wake up now…”

He shakes his head harder, face contorted in something that looks a lot like pain. It makes Darcy’s heart twist in her chest.

“Steve, it’s a nightmare,” she says, “you have to wake up from it…”

“No, I won’t let you- I can’t-” He lets out a string of muttered sentences she can’t make out, voice low and rough and urgent. His spine arching without warning, body twisting away from her in a parody of ecstasy or bliss. Darcy tries to soothe him, tries to hold him to her but it does no good. He’s far too strong for her to wrestle with, no matter how good her intentions are. She tries to shake him awake again but he pushes her off him, managing to get himself to the far side of the bed. There’s a thump where she hits her elbow against the bedroom wall from the push and a string of swear-words where she shares her feelings on the matter.

And then suddenly-

Suddenly he’s awake, and he’s staring at her, and his eyes are suspiciously red, as if- _Shit, as if he’s been crying_.

The two of them stare at one another for what seems like forever because neither of them know what to say.

For a full minute Darcy’s paralysed, half-awake, not sure how to handle this. _Guys in her experience not normally being willing to show their emotions so openly in front of a girl._ But then she sees something, a flash of embarrassment- _no, shame_ \- move through Steve’s expression and suddenly she doesn’t give a flying fuck what he might say to her. There’s nothing more important than making him feel better, than showing him it’s going to be okay.

So she folds him in her arms, holds him tighter than she ever remembers holding anyone. Soothing him, stroking his back and shoulders. Murmuring that everything will be fine, that he can finally let go. That he’s okay now that he’s here with her. Eventually he calms a little, makes to move away from her. She lets him, watching as he turns his back to her, his spine straight and unyielding as an iron bar. But though he isn’t looking at her anymore Darcy doesn’t feel like she’s being dismissed by him. He’s still holding tight to the arms she’s wrapped around him, still leaning back against her as if he can’t bear to pull away. As his hands come to rest on hers, Darcy feels that strange jolt, that spark of connection they seem to share together-

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks softly, her words sounding vaguely… fragile to her. _But she knows she has to say them._

“No,” Steve’s voice comes, tired and muffled. “I really don’t.”

He sighs. Suddenly he looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“But I guess if I plan on having you sleep over more often,” he says, “Then I really should.”

And with that he begins describing a mission to Siberia. The last one he took with Tasha in point of fact, where they tried to retrace what was left of the Soviet super-soldier programme and encountered an old enemy instead. At first his words are clear and easily understood, the tone clipped. Dry. He stares into the darkness before him as he speaks; This is an agent reporting to a superior, not a lover telling his girl what he’s done.

But as he starts describing being captured, his tone slowly changes. The mask of officialese slipping until Darcy can hear the Steve underneath. As he speaks the words get faster, tumbling one over the other. He describes being ambushed by Yelena Belova and her men with a rushed, disjointed worry Darcy has never heard from him before. Describes his shame at being taken, his worry about what would happen to Tasha.

And then he gets to the part where Belova tied him the first time and his voice simply… halts. Goes silent. For a second there’s no sound between him and Darcy at all but the laboured beat of his breath. She wants to ask what happened but she forces herself not to do it. Though she feels sick to her stomach something tells her it’s important that Steve sets the pace. So she holds her peace, her hands tightening on his. Every ounce of her being focussed on letting him know she’s here for him.

And eventually, in a tired, weary voice she almost doesn’t recognise, Steve tells her what happened when Belova tied him to that chair.  
“It was- I was- I don’t know how to explain it,” he says softly. “I was in so much pain that I could barely hold my head up, even before she got out the ropes. And then, when she tied the first knot, when I felt it dig into my skin, the relief… I don’t have to words to describe it.” He shakes his head to himself in the darkness.  
“It felt… It felt good and terrible all at the same time. It felt like I was lost.”

Darcy knows she has to choose her words carefully. _She’s so damn happy she had time to sober up before she tries **this**._ “And had you ever- Had you ever felt good and terrible and lost at the same time before, Steve?”

_She supposes it’s the most delicate way she can come up with to ask if Belova was his first._

He shakes his head. “I’d never felt _anything_ like this, Darce, I’d no… no frame of reference for it. I’d been with one person, back in my time, and what we did together… It didn’t feel anything like what Belova did to me.”

He turns to her but though he does so his words are addressed to somewhere in the region of her right shoulder.

It seems he still can’t meet her eye but somehow Darcy understands.

“I didn’t- I didn’t know I was a freak when I was with Peggy,” he whispers. “I didn’t care I was a freak once I met you.” Darcy tries to work out whether she’s charmed or insulted by that statement but before she can he rushes on. He’s starting to get worked up again, emotion tightening his frame. “Now though… I put that stuff with Belova in a box and sealed it tight, didn’t look at it,” he’s saying. “Didn’t even want to think it was there. I was so damn happy when I found you that I told myself I didn’t care about it, that it could just be like Esme says. Just be part of who I am. But… I _do_ care. I can’t _not_ care, that’s obvious. Ever since Loki brain-jacked me I can’t stop thinking about how much I care.” He sighs, twists to finally look at her in the darkness. His gaze burns, even in the dimness, so intense it’s like a physical thing. “And that’s not good enough for you, Darcy. It’s not fair, we both know it’s not-”

His head dips, almost defeated.

“What’s between us will always be about _her_ , don’t you see that?”

It moves through Darcy then, this shudder of…something she doesn’t have a name for yet. Tenderness and compassion and lo- And gentleness _(because she is sure as shit not using the L Word about a guy she’s barely been with a week)._ But the emotion is there, a sea-swell in her chest. The sudden knowledge that she would do anything for this man- fight any foe, best any dragon- making her pulse tap and her heart beat. She’d always thought that caring was a meek thing, something docile and sweet you kept like a pet. But the rage she feels in this moment isn’t the slightest bit docile. It’s angry and fierce and protective and sharp. It has claws and a tazer and it wants to rip Yelena Belova a new one for daring to lay a hand on her soldier.

“Steve,” she begins then, because emotion is giving her strength and purpose, “Steve, are you telling me you want to break up with me because of what happened in Siberia?”

He twists again to look at her, surprise written all across him. “Are you telling me you don’t want to break up with me after I’ve told you all that?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Why would I wanna do that? I had to go out and get trashed just to contemplate the idea of being with someone else, and that was when I was mad at you: What makes you think I’d wanna break up over this?”

He frowns, not understanding. “But- But I told you I didn’t fight her off,” he says slowly. “I told you- I told you I got off on being tied to a chair and tortured-”

She shakes her head, speaks over him. “You told me the first time you realised you liked being restrained happened to be when you were tied to a chair and tortured; That’s not the same thing as _enjoying_ being tortured, Steve.” She shrugs. “And even if it was, so what? Seems to me, it’s basic biology. Apply the correct stimulus, you get a happy. Apply an incorrect stimulus, your stomach ties into knots and you feel sick. The stimulus is whatever works for you, and being restrained _works_ for you Steve: Are you honestly telling me you don’t think you’re entitled to that?”

“But…” He frowns, apparently at a loss for words. He seems to be trying to tell her something but doesn’t know how. Long seconds tick by and eventually though he seems to find his courage. She can see it in the way he steels his jaw, the way his hands clench: He’s about to make himself say something. 

“Ever since Westchester and Loki, whenever I think about being restrained Belova pops into my mind,” he says quietly. “I- I’m afraid I’ll start thinking of her when I’m with you, start… polluting what we do together with what she did. 

I can’t bear that, Darce.”

Darcy crawls closer to him on the bed. “Then let me make some other memories for you, Steve,” she says softly. A plan is starting to form, a way to get through to him now she sees what he’s worried about. “Unless of course you don’t think I can blow that skinny Russian bitch out of the water with my moves.”

And she makes a point of grinning goofily at him, trying to get a response. For a moment his eyes light as if he’s about to laugh but the gesture falls short.

“I don’t think anyone will ever get me over this, Darce,” he says softly.

 _She’s not having that._ “Nonsense, soldier,” she says, making sure to harden he voice. Make it commanding. She sees the flash of arousal move through his eyes as she does. “You just need some new memories.” Her eyes fall upon the wooden chair he has in his room, beside his bureau. A suit tie is hanging off it, probably there from the last time he had to do a meet and greet for S.H.I.E.L.D. As Darcy sees the tie her mouth grows dry, her plan solidifying. Steve can see it, she’s sure, because suddenly he’s grown very still.

“Do you trust me, soldier?” she asks quietly.

_She’s asked him that before but his answer’s never been this important._

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “Of course I trust you.”

She nods to the chair. “Then take a seat.”

For a moment she thinks he’s going to flat out refuse her. That for the first time he’s genuinely not going to give her a chance to help. But though she can see his reluctance he slowly stands and pads over to the chair, his body instinctively dropping into the “at ease,” posture, his face set and resolute. Without waiting Darcy stands and follows him, gestures for him to drop into the chair. His jaw moves a tiny bit and she nearly relents but then he does it. His massive form folding itself stiffly into the chair, his back ramrod straight, hands on his knees. He looks so uncomfortable that for the first time Darcy wonders whether she should be doing this. Planning a way to give him better memories than the ones of Belova is one thing but asking him to do something he genuinely dislikes is something else. But then, as she opens her mouth to tell him he can leave the chair he suddenly looks up at her.

She sees so many different warring emotions in his face and one of them, she realises with a jolt, is hope. He’s hopeful that she can help him.

_And if he can give her that then she has to try; Anything else just wouldn’t be good enough._

She reaches down and kisses him then, once, very firmly, on the mouth. He breathes in deeply as she does it, as if taking her scent, and she gives him her most reassuring smile. Takes the suit tie and stretches it, testing its length, before setting it aside as too short for her uses. Instead she reaches down for her pantyhose, testing the length of the nylon. Two quick snips from the nail-scissors in her purse and the legs are cut through, the length of them about perfect for what she wants to do. She watches Steve carefully as she reaches down and secures his wrists to the chair’s arms; If there’s a moment he’s going to stop her this is more than likely it. But though she sees his discomfort- _he bites his lip, face twisting a little_ \- when he looks at her he nods in acquiescence. Gulps but says nothing, just holds her stare. Again she reaches down and kisses him, more softly this time. Her hand snaking down to stroke his cock, the feel of it hardening in her hand. Steve takes in a sharp hiss of breath as she does so but again he doesn’t object.

She needs to know though. “You still with me, soldier?” she murmurs.

He nods stiffly. “Yes, ma’am.”

She needs something else from him, something more personal. She needs to remind him she’s not Belova and this chair is not like his first. “Can you say my name for me, soldier?” she murmurs and he blinks up at her, surprised.

“Yes, Darcy,” he murmurs. His gaze is starting to grow unfocussed. Aroused.

She makes her voice coaxing. “Can you say it louder?”

He repeats it, voice stronger. “Yes, Darcy.”

“Thank you soldier,” she murmurs. “That’s just what I wanted.” She reaches down and kisses him a third time, more deeply this time, her tongue sliding against his. He tastes, as he alwas does, delicious to her. “Now I need you to do something else for me-”

He blinks dark blue, heavy-lidded eyes up at her. “What do you need, Darcy?”

She lets him stare at her for nearly a full minute, swarms of butterflies let lose in her belly. _This might be the scariest thing they’ve ever done_. But then-

“I need you to tell me what to do, Steve,” she murmurs softly. She bites her lip, and it’s not just for show. She’s nervous.

“I need you to tell me what I can do to you.”

He blinks at that, surprised, and she holds her breath, waiting. But though he looks uncertain he doesn’t look uneasy, and that, she supposes, is what she’s aiming for after all. He nods once again, tersely, and then stares at her as if he doesn’t know where to start. She’s considering offering him some suggestions when he clears his throat and cocks his head towards her.

“Please kiss me again, Darcy,” he says quietly.

She reaches down and does so, once, very chastely, on his forehead.

He shifts in frustration. “No, on- kiss me on my mouth.”

She nods, a touch of her own mischievousness coming through even as she leans down to obey him. The kiss is quick, tender, designed to tease not satisfy. He shifts in annoyance, stares at her. _Turns out Steve's adorable when he pouts._ “Be more specific,” she whispers, her lips hovering an inch from his ear.  “The more specific you are, the more you’ll get from me.” She sighs, runs her fingers gently down his cheeks. He's trembling. “Oh, soldier, the things I want to do to you…”

“Then do them.” His voice is getting rougher.

“Can’t do.” She kisses his lips again, just as lightly. Takes the lower one between her teeth and tugs. “I won’t do anything you don’t say-”

“Screw that.” This being in charge thing looks like it’s starting to annoy him. _But better that than the defeat she heard in his voice a few moments ago._ “Fine then,” he says tightly, when he sees she's not for turning.  “If you want specific: Kiss my cock, okay? Kiss my-”

But she drops to her knees without hesitation before he finishes. As she does so she snags his tie, using it and her panties to tie his ankles to each chair leg, spreading him wide for her, only for her. She hears him sigh, although whether in annoyance or frustration she cannot say.

_He can easily get loose though, so it's his choice to stay._

“The head, soldier, or the shaft?” she asks then, her lips an inch from his dick, the smell of his arousal starting to get to her. She can see the dark red head, hardening and starting to grow. It makes her throat dry. Her breath must tickle him because this time the sigh is definitely one of pleasure. “The head,” he says, “the head and the underside. Use-” She hears his voice catch, knows he’s blushing. “Use your tongue, Darcy. Lick and suck. I- I like it when you do that.”

“Like this?” and she does as he asks, precisely as he told her. She can tell he likes it because she hears his tight, indrawn breath. Feels his hips hitch.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he hisses. “Jonah and Abraham and Ishmael. Christ, do you know what you’re doing to me, ma’am?”

She can’t help her smile. “I do now.”

He nods, almost absently. “Then keep going. Don’t stop- Make me beg for it-”

She takes her tongue away from him just for a moment. _Making him beg she can do._ “Do you want to come in my mouth, soldier?” She asks. “Do you want me to swallow you down?”

But Steve’s already losing himself. “Yes- No- I don’t know, Darcy.” His hips are starting to push and piston, his hands raking at the arms of the chair. _The sight of his body twisting for her is **so** beautiful._ “I just- Don’t stop- Please don’t stop-”

"Not if you don't want me to-"

He snarls and twists in frustration. "Never, never want you to," he hisses. "Never want you to let me go..."

And so she continues her torture, licking and sucking, kissing and caressing him. Giving that beautiful cock of his the lavish attention it deserves. Once or twice he tells her to do other things, asks her to squeeze and tease his balls, his thighs. The delicate track of skin that leads from his cock to his ass. Darcy does it all, as soon as he says it, exactly as he says it. Showing him that though he’s bound he can trust her with his pleasure. That though he’s bound she’ll take good care of him. She thinks he’ll keep going, maybe come in her mouth as she offered. But though he’s reaching full hardness eventually he calls on her to stop.

“Straddle me,” he hisses, his voice breathless. “Want- Want to feel you…”

Darcy can’t help her grin. “You sure about that, soldier?”

He glares down at her, so aroused his blue eyes burn. “You’re damn sure I’m sure,” he tells her. “Now get yourself up here-”

"Whatever you say, soldier." And with that she straddles his lap, leaning above him. His hips pushing upwards though she keeps herself just out of his reach. He hisses in frustration and she kisses him, trying to soothe him. _She’s set the rules of this game after all, and she needs to follow them through_. “I’m straddling you,” she says coaxingly, “Now what do you want, soldier?”

He lets out a string of what might be curse words but Darcy doesn’t move.

“Want to be inside you,” he says desperately. “Put me inside you…”

She strokes his cock, angles herself to take him just a tiny bit inside. _It feels so fucking good._ “Like this, soldier?” she murmurs.

“Deeper,” he grunts. “Harder. Want to- want to feel you fuck me long and deep-”

She kisses him full on the mouth, a reward for such a clear instruction. “That I can do,” she mutters and with that she brings herself down on him, riding him slow and steady. Raising herself up and then lowering herself down, setting a pace that’s strong and delicious and deep. Steve rises up to meet her on each push, his body shaking with the force of it. Darcy’s never seen him like this, never seen him so shameless and lost to everything but her. The chair starts to creak but it holds steady. She angles his head down to watch where his body slides into hers, to watch her take him just like he asked. At the sight something seems to settle within him, some peace which had been absent; He nods as if to himself and gives into it, gives into what they both can share. Push and slide, sigh and shudder. The pleasure moves back and forth between them, easy and intricate as the steps of a dance. Eventually it has to end, her moment coming before his as she flicks her clit while he watches himself slide into her. His yell of completion an echo of hers, an echo of the joy they share. Without words they slump forwards, clinging together, peace moving through them. Darcy once again kisses his forehead, but this time he doesn’t object.

They're quiet for a really long time after that. 

“Was that about Yelena Belova?” she asks him eventually.

He shakes his head sleepily, his body completely lax. _This is the most relaxed she thinks she's ever seen him._ “No," he says. "That was about me and you.”

"Good." She takes his chin in her hand, angles his head towards her as she kisses his mouth. _Just to remind him who he belongs to, and that she'll always be there_.  "Remember that if that bitch ever rears her head inside your mind again, okay, Steve?” She bites his lip this time, drawing blood, marking him. "She tries anything and you think of me."

He nods, looking strangely vulnerable though sated. “Yes, ma’am.” He smiles. "I'm yours ma'am." He stares up at her through his lashes again and her heart damn near melts. "Just like you're- just like you're mine?"

It's a question but it doesn't need to be. "Damn straight," she tells him, because it's true. And with that she unties him and they wander back to bed, at peace with one another. 

They make love until the morning comes, and Steve never mentions Belova once. 


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three: Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for their reviews go to inkandash, notashamed and bekindrewind for their reviews. This is the last chapter- there will probably be an epilogue, i haven't decided yet. But with that being said, on with the story we go...

_Disclaimer_ : This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine.

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: MINE**

When Steve wakes the next morning, he’s surprised by how hard he’s smiling.

Not that he doesn’t normally smile when he wakes up beside Darcy; He doubts there’s a man alive who wouldn’t smile at the thought of that. And not that he’s one of those guys who likes to stay in his problems, stuck in them like a pig in mud; He’s spent too long worrying and too long running for that notion to have much appeal.

But still, as he opens his eyes and turns to trace her profile in the early morning light, Steve’s genuinely surprised by how light he feels. How free. How freed. _And it’s because he finally talked to Darcy. He finally let her see that part of him he’d been trying to keep secret._ He hadn’t wanted to open up about the stuff with Belova last night. In fact had thought that if he introduced it, it would sound a death-knell for his relationship with his girl. Had thought that if he told her what happened she would just turn away from him, disgusted by his weakness in a way she was never disgusted by his kink. But she hadn’t. She hadn’t even cared about it. She’d only seemed interested in how it effected _him_ , how _he_ dealt with it, and for someone who had spent as long being used as a tool for a cause as he had- either Fury’s or Phillips’ or Brandt’s-Steve viewed that as some sort of minor miracle.

Because it _was_ a miracle. _She_ was a miracle.

_He’d travelled who knew how far and lived God only knew how long to finally find her and now that he had, he was never going to let her go._

As if reacting to his train of thought she shifts in her sleep then, eyebrows puckering together. Murmuring something which sounds vaguely like “I don’t wanna get up…” before turning over and burrowing deeper into his side, going back to sleep. One arm still thrown possessively over his hip as though she needs to feel that he’s near. _That he’s hers_. Steve has to smile, a wave of affection going through him as he reaches down and presses a kiss to the crown of her head, taking in the scent of her sweat and her shampoo. The sensation of having her near, remembering what they did together last night, as always setting his blood running resolutely south. The way she’s lying, her forearm is pressing lightly against his belly; As his cock begins to harden she smiles in her sleep, her hand instinctively reaching down to circle him and hold him close. The feel of her warm palm around him making his breath hitch. His entire body onboard with what it now knows usually comes next. Steve swears under his breath- _Jesus, even asleep she knows what she does to him_ \- and at the sound of his voice Darcy opens her eyes and stares at him, hair tussled, eyes unfocussed. Still, obviously, half asleep.

She looks so unsure that for a moment his breath stills, wondering whether she’s woken up to second thoughts rather than second chances. Whether she’s rethought what he told her last night. And then-

Her face splits into a smile, almost as wide and almost as shy as his, and she moves so that she’s straddling him, playfully holding him down. Her fingers curled in his, her body moulding his into the mattress. Looking every inch his ma’am, just like he’s her soldier. Forcing him onto his back for her, making her meaning clear. They stare at one another for who knows how long, submissive and dominant, Steve and Darcy, and as they do so the momentary sliver of worry in Steve’s chest just about disintegrates. It’s like it was never there to begin with, though something tells him he’ll have to deal with it again. _But that’s for another day._ “Hey you,” he says softly, because he honestly can’t think of anything more clever to say.

Her smile widens.

“Hey you,” she repeats, leaning up to kiss him. Her fingers tighten on his and Steve feels his breath catch in his throat. Her gaze turns soft. “You alright after last night, soldier?” she murmurs, and he gulps, nodding at her. Feeling her press butterfly kisses along his throat, his shoulders. His chest. It feels amazing.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “Never better.”

She nods to herself, as much to him. Lays her forehead on his. “That changes, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?” She looks down at him, her gaze serious, her voice pitched somewhere between worried and ordering. “I mean it, Steve. You- You’re never not okay, and you’d tell me, right?”

Steve feels that same wash of affection go over him, the warmth of feeling… cared for making him grin. He hasn’t felt it in so long, not since… Not since Bucky died. Maybe not since he lost his mom. “Yes, Darcy,” he says solemnly, raising his head to press a kiss to her temple. “I’m never not okay and I’ll let you know.”

She turns as he does so, her head following his down as if she can’t bear the thought of losing contact with him, and to his delight she rests the crown of her head against his chest, directly over his heartbeat. Her fingers tightening in his, her hips pressing down against his own as her hair tickles his chest. Steve presses up into her experimentally and she sighs in pleasure, her eyes squeezing shut. Head dipping downwards, dragging along the length of his chest towards his abdominals, his belly. Her mouth opening, tongue darting out to lick along him. His muscles jumping in response to her, as if even his insides want to reach out and touch.   
At the thought Steve sighs, thrusting lightly against her, his hands coming to meld around his headboard. She’s not given him permission to move them, and anyway he likes it better like this. Him, laid out before her and open, waiting for the pleasure she gives him. Waiting to be told what he can do for her, what this body can provide. When she reaches his dick, Darcy pauses, pressing a couple of light kisses against it. Steve whines a little- _there’s really no other word for the sound he makes_ \- and holds his breath, waiting to see what she’ll do to him. _It’s not like her sucking his cock is ever going to get old._ But though he feels her smile she doesn’t take him in her mouth. Instead, on hand snakes up to touch his chin, turning his head down to look at her. The sight of her, his cock nestled between her breasts, her chin on his solar plexus, might just be the most damning, filthy, erotic thing he’s ever witnessed.

_And he’s imagined being fucked senseless by her in Nick Fury’s chair on the helicarrier._

Not that that really matters though. Because she’s talking. “Would you like your orders, soldier?” she murmurs, worrying her lip as she does so. There’s something in her gaze, something soft and devilish, tender and electric, that he’s never seen before and it makes him So. Fucking. Hard.

His “yeah,” comes out more like a grunt than a word and he feels a flash of embarrassment. The devilishness in Darcy’s gaze increases, her expression turning leering. Hungry.

“What was that, soldier?” she murmurs and he can hear the tease in her tone, the mocking. It makes arousal spike through Steve even faster, spiralling around his spine, his belly, his cock. The desire to find out what she’s planning for him too intoxicating to resist. He clears his throat. “I said, yes ma’am,” he repeats, forcing his voice to be clear. “Pl-Please give me my orders, ma’am. Please-

Please tell me how I can be of use to you...”

She hears the words and her smile widens at them and Steve thinks he might come, nestled between her breasts, then and there. But he holds himself back as best he can, forcing himself into quietness. _What kind of soldier would he be, if he allowed himself all this pleasure without earning it from her?_ Darcy leans up on her elbows, her breasts now just barely touching his penis. She’s grinning so brightly as she does it that it’s all Steve can do to hold himself still. “Oh, you want to be of use, do you, soldier?” she asks coquettishly, licking her lips as she stares at him. Her blue are eyes practically navy with arousal. “And what use do you want me to put you to?”

“Anything,” he says breathlessly. “I’ll do anything.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, but even as he says them he knows they’re true. Because he can trust Darcy not to hurt him or do something he doesn’t want to do, he knows that. Just as he knows that, after last night, he’s most definitely hers.

_And frankly, the thought of being used by her is too Goddamn hot to resist._

Apparently she agrees with him. Because she slips from their bed for a moment and grabs his tie, the one she tied his leg with last night. Crooks her finger at him, calling him to her. Indicating that he should kneel before her on the bed even as she stands on the floor. Without hesitation Steve does as he’s ordered, shifting his knees apart so he doesn’t jostle his cock uncomfortably. Bowing his head and back where she stands before him, waiting for her to apply the rope. He feels it, when she wraps it around his wrists, tying them together, binding them. He can’t hold back the sigh of pleasure he gives as he feels it, finds he doesn’t even want to. _He can’t bear to pretend that this isn’t what he needs._ But then he feels Darcy loop the rope around his ankles, binding his wrists to them. Making any sort of movement of his upper body nearly impossible, unless he wants to break his bonds. He can’t help it, he looks up at her questioningly.

As soon as he does so her hand stills, her eyebrows raised.

“Too much?” she asks him softly. “Are you- Are you okay with this?”

He has to shake his head. “No. I mean, yes, I’m okay with it. Just, I won’t…” He jerks his chin to indicate his position. “I won’t be able to please you like this,” he says softly. He tries to move his hips but he can’t, not really. The friction of the tie makes him even harder though. “How am I going to be of any use to you?” he whispers, frowning. “What can I do for you like _this_..?”

She kisses him to quiet him, her smile turning positively incendiary. Steve can’t help it, he has to jerk his hips a little more, in order to relieve the tension it causes. He thinks he might come, just from staring at her. “Oh, you’re not gonna be using your cock this time, soldier,” she practically purrs, sidling up to him. “It’s that beautiful fucking mouth of yours I’m gonna put to good use…” And she jerks her head towards the headboard, her thumb snaking out to trace his lips. Instinctively Steve wraps his lips and tongue around the digit and sucks.

He can’t believe how loudly it makes her moan.

“That end of the bed, soldier,” she says, her eyes closing, her voice turning scratchy. Steve can’t help the surge of pride he feels in knowing he did that to her. “Assume the position. Back straight, knees apart, tongue ready to eat me until I scream, we clear?”

“Crystal.” And his heart begins to pound in double time as he scrambles to obey her. Kicking pillows and blankets out of the way as he darts down the bed. Darcy follows behind, laying herself down below him, legs canted open. One hand holding the headboard, the other snaking down to stroke the back of his head as he comes to rest before her, the touch both proprietary and commanding. Telling him everything he needs to know about why he’s here. Again her thumb slips into his mouth, again he sucks it.

They both moan loudly at the same time.

“Whose mouth is this?” she mutters, and Steve knows the response is “yours.” “Whose cock is this?” she asks him, and again Steve knows what his response is. “Yours, ma’am,” he mutters. “It’s always going to be yours.” Her nails dig into his back, his ass, tracing along his body. They find his asshole, the valley between his ass cheeks and he can’t suppress the shudder that goes through him. _He can feel himself completely letting go_ … “Whose body is this?” she asks and Steve knows what to say. “Yours, ma’am. All yours… Always…”

Her hand reaches out to trace his cheek, her expression suddenly gentle. Tender.

“I was hoping you’d say that, soldier,” she says. She kisses him.

“Cuz I know that I’m yours.”

And with that she pulls his head down towards her pussy and hisses at him to start it. Her hips reaching up to him, belly and thighs already taut. One leg snaking over his shoulder and hooking around his neck, pulling him closer. Anchoring him just where she needs him to be. Steve reaches out his tongue, delicately pressing it into her. She shudders at even that tentative contact and pleasure swells through him, pride at what he made his woman do making him quake. He’s known a lot of guys in the service who didn’t like this, heard a lot of whispers about how eating your woman out is just a way of getting your cock where it needs to go. _But he honestly can’t imagine anything better than this_. The taste, the smell, the texture of it. The way she moans and keens for him, the way she spits and hisses her pleasure at what he’s doing to her… It’s amazing. She’s amazing. This is amazing.

_And what he feels when they’re together?_

_He hasn’t a word for that- Even amazing won’t do._

He feels her shudder then, senses how near she is to coming. It’s like… Like she’s completely given herself over to him. Like, after last night she’s decided nothing else should come between them, just as he’s done. He’s heard it said that honesty is best, that you should always tell the truth to the one you’re with. He’d always assumed- _at least, Bucky had always told him_ \- that you shouldn’t give up all your secrets, that you shouldn’t trust a woman with all you are. But he feels like that’s what he’s been doing with Darcy ever since he met her, and he feels like that’s what’s allowing him to be here like this with her. Trust. He trusts her. She trusts him. _And together that trust makes something between them that’s so fucking good he hasn’t the words to explain what it is._ So he leans into his task, licking and sucking and nibbling. Suckling at her clit, making her moan louder. Giving her every ounce of pleasure he can, his entire body tilted towards that task. Every ounce of his focus now on her. A breath comes, a hiss, another moan of pleasure- He’s not sure whose- And then she screams, a long, low keening. He feels her slip over the edge, feels her shuddering beneath him. Every inch of her deliciously in freefall, every inch of him knowing he’s the cause.

“Break the ropes,” he hears her tell him as if from far away. “I need you inside me, soldier-”

He can’t believe she wants that. “You’re sure ma’am-?”

She drags his head up to kiss her, tongue tangling with his fiercely. “You’re fucking right I’m sure,” she hisses. “Break the fucking ropes.”

Steve doesn’t need to hear more, tugs at the tie binding him until he feels it give a little. The looseness is enough to get his hand free and that’s enough to detach himself from where he’s tied at his feet, the silk of the tie burning his skin a little though it has surprisingly little give. Once she sees he’s free Darcy’s on top of him, pressing his body beneath hers. Two quick tugs on his cock and he’s inside her, seated so fully he thinks he might be able to touch her heart. Her eyes close, the relief of having him inside her etched all over her face. She starts riding him, slow and steady, her hips moving in time with his. Her urgency draining out of her now he’s inside her again.

Steve reaches up and takes her hips in his hands, moving her body, giving them both the extra pressure they need. Darcy sighs as he does it- “just like that, soldier,”- her entire body almost going lax. The peace on her face something Steve will knows he’ll never get tired of seeing, something he knows he’ll remember until the day he does. She leans down limply, her breasts just inches from his mouth, and he can’t help himself. He takes one nipple, tonguing it, pressing his nose to her breast’s delicate underside, and she sighs in pleasure again. They continue like that, pressing and pushing for he doesn’t know how long. He only knows that he doesn’t want it finished, doesn’t want to let this moment go. But of course it must, orgasm washing over him without his really wanting it to. Darcy’s screams of pleasure as it takes her too the only thing he wants to hear. She collapses on him, her body tucking against his more tightly as the shudders pass through her. Her head hidden against the crook of his throat, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. For a long moment she stays there, apparently unwilling to look at him, her breath coming in quick, short pants. But then-

“You okay?” she asks, and her voice sounds _tiny_.

She’s staring at him with wide eyes, her expression worried and grave.

Steve can’t help himself, he has to kiss her. He can’t stand the scared look on her face, not when he’s still buried inside her. Not when they’re still as close to one another as they are right now.

“I’m fine, ma’am,” he says softly. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. _He has to ask this_. “How about you?”

She shakes her head, frowning. Worry sets itself niggling in Steve’s chest. “I think… I think I might have gotten a little carried away, there, soldier.” She narrows her eyes at him, her expression questioning. “Did I- Was I-” She lets out a huff of frustration. “Was that okay for you? I didn’t- I didn’t go too Dark Side or anything, did I?”

And she stares at his chest, her face actually reddening.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out she’s embarrassed, and for once in his life Steve suspects he knows the cause.

Because he knows it’s not easy the first time you truly show someone who you are. He knows it’s not easy when you’re truly naked in front of someone, emotionally as well as physically, for the first time. _And that’s what he suspects just happened between Darcy and him. No wonder she’s freaked out_. So he smiles more widely, wrapping his arms more tightly around her. Cuddling her against his side, muzzling his face into her hair. Telling her in every way he can think of that he’s happy with what they’ve done together, that she doesn’t have to feel embarrassed or afraid. “I’ve never been better,” he tells her, and she smiles when she hears him say it. “If this is you going Dark Side, ma’am, then I’ll be take your Darth Vader any day.”

She looks up at him and grins. “You got the reference. I guess I should thank Tony and Bruce for that.”

He leans down, mock-solemn, and presses a kiss to her nose. “You should, but I’d prefer you didn’t. Besides… The Force is strong with this one,” he says, doing his best impression of Alec Guinness.

She giggles.

“You don’t know the power of the Dark Side,” she intones, doing her best James Earl Jones. “You must obey your Mistress-”

He kisses her again, smiling. “Isn’t that what all this has been about, ma’am?”

She laughs, out loud this time, and just like that, the tension is broken. The realisation that he’s apparently okay with everything they’ve done together setting her at her ease. They lay together for the better part of the day, kissing and loving, watching the sun rise and then set properly-

And all through it, Darcy says it again and again. "Mine," she tells him, "You're mine, soldier."

And Steve finds he doesn't have it in him to disagree. 

* * *

 

Fury receives a text message about 10am informing him that neither Captain America nor Agent Lewis will be in work for a week and the collected Avengers in his staff meeting all break into applause. Thor and Tony both trying to give Steve congratulatory phone calls. Clint and Natasha both seperately sending text messages to an old friend they know will be happy with the news. They don't hear back from Esme but they know she's happy for Steven. 

And two weeks later, when Steve and Darcy receive an invitation for two weeks in a Palazzo in Southern Italy, they both know she's happy for them too. 

 


	24. Epilogue: Thrall

_Disclaimer_ : This fan-fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta-read so all mistakes are mine.

**EPILOGUE: THRALL**

_Three Years Later_

“Pepper’s gonna kill me,” Darcy moans.

“The bachelorette party’s in an hour and I’m still here.”

And she tries to manoeuvre around the island in the middle of the kitchen, her swollen, pregnant belly making it nearly impossible. The modest kitten heels she’s forced her feet into clacking softly on the floor as she frowns, looking around for her purse and keys. Steve has to smile, watching her try her usual, whirlwind, I’m-so-busy routine on him while carrying around another, (unborn) little human inside her-

“If you’re late, Pepper will understand,” he says soothingly. Reaching out and wrapping his arms around her waist.

_He doesn’t like to see her get worked up like this._

Darcy turns to him, opens her mouth to correct him and he speaks over her. Kisses her nose, earning a mock-annoyed harrumph. “She’s marrying Tony Stark, Darce,” he points out gently, stroking her belly, “the lady can handle her stress. Slow down a little-”

“ _You_ slow down.” And Darcy cocks an eyebrow, crossing her arms tartly over her chest and pouting. It’s actually… well, it’s actually kind of adorable. _Though Steve wisely decides to keep that thought to himself_. “I’m tired of slowing down,” she’s saying. “You get to be as pregnant as me and everything has to slow down. I’m as big as a house, and I’m not able to do anything, and I can’t go into work anymore, and now I’m late for Pepper’s shower and I’m the maid of honour-”

“She’ll understand.” And Steve kisses her lightly, because… well, because he just has to. _Three years together, two and a half of them spent sharing a home, will do that to a guy._ “And as for the other stuff… Darce, you’re pregnant. Which is wonderful. And amazing. And so much more than I ever thought I could have in my life. But you’re supposed to be slowing down, that’s what pregnant women _do_ …”

The pout gets worse. “Jane didn’t, when she was carrying Rowan and Willow.”

“And Thor was a nervous wreck the entire lead-up to the birth,” Steve points out. “Don’t you remember? The fistfights? The drinking? Explaining to Jane why me and Tony had to bring him home that one night without his pants?”

As he’d hoped she would, Darcy snorts with laughter. Clearly she remembers how anxious the big, scary God of Thunder had turned when his girl was pregnant for the first time. _And she’d never even found out **why** Hawkeye did that with Thor’s underwear… _

“Yeah, well, okay, maybe it was hard for him,” she allows. She bats her eyelashes mockingly at Steve though, grinning. “But you, soldier? You’re waaay more sensible than Thor is-”

“But I’m not.” And he kisses her again to stop her protests. This time she knows his game and pinches his ass playfully, trying to get him to cut it out. But Steve’s made from sterner stuff than that, and he’s taken far worse punishment.

 _In fact_ , he thinks with a smile, _he’s begged for it._

And that being the case, he doesn’t pull back until he’s thoroughly kissed her, grinning proudly when she pouts again. She goes to pinch him and he ducks easily out of the way, earning another reproving look. Despite her size he picks her up easily and deposit her on the kitchen island, stepping between her legs until they’re nose to nose.

“Look, doll,” he says, “I get it: I married a firecracker. You’re Lois Lane to my Clark Kent, and that means you’re keeping your job and not changing your name and taking numbers and kicking asses when evil strikes New York. _I get that._ But Darce, you have to slow down: You don’t need to prove anything, you just need to rest.”

She rolls her eyes. “Rest is boring.”

Now it’s his turn to cross his arms, his face pulling into a mock-affronted frown. “Well if lying in bed is boring then this soldier’s not doing a very good job of things, is he, ma’am?” he says softly. His hands stealing up her legs, under the skirt of the very pretty, very expensive, very formal cocktail dress she’s wearing to Pepper’s party. One hand tracing patterns on her thigh while the other hikes the skirt higher up, over her waist. The sight of her round belly, full with a kid that’s half her and half him, making him smile. His hand sliders down her stomach to find the seam between her legs and he can feel wetness starting to build between her thighs, even through her panties and her pantyhose. _It’s been a while since they’ve tried anything… Almost four days, in point of fact…_

“Don’t you dare, soldier,” she murmurs as he leans in and starts kissing her neck.

The warning doesn’t have any real heat in it though, he has to notice.

_She really felt like giving him orders and that’s not the tone she’d use._

“I dare, ma’am,” he says playfully, leaning in and kissing her lips, tugging the lower one between his teeth. She moans at it. “I’m an Avenger, dare is my middle name…”

“I thought it was Grant?” she murmurs, voice turning breathless. “Or is it Thomas..?”

She’s started on his belt-buckle.

He’s started on her bra-straps.

“Quiet, you,” he retorts, pressing more tightly against her, letting his hands begin to roam as hers do the same. “And stop trying to change the subject when I’m getting to third base.” She sighs happily at his words, pulling his t-shirt out of his pants and unbuttoning it, grinning. Pepper’s party apparently forgotten now she’s found something so much more fun to do. Steve’s hands go to the zip at the back of her dress as if in answer and start to pull it down some-

And then, as he should have known it would, his phone rings. Loudly.

It’s the one attached to the AI which runs the place, Tony’s idea of a moving in present. And that being the case Steve knows it won’t shut up until it’s been answered.

 _I know he’s my best friend_ , Steve thinks, _but Tony Stark is actually kind of a dick._

Darcy sighs then, also apparently knowing that it won’t stop until one of them has answered it. Sitting up and righting her clothes a little, pulling her cocktail dress down until it looks mournfully demure to Steve. She reaches over and flicks on the computer consul set in the wall to her right, accepting the call and swearing under her breath as she does so. Plastering on a smile, clearly expecting to see Tony Stark demanding to know why she’s late to his girl’s big night. But instead she sees Thor, his infant daughters asleep in his lap, Jane’s sleeping head on his shoulder. All three females appear to be drooling.

The normally boisterous Asgardian nods to her but keeps his voice low.

“Greetings Darcy,” he says, smiling in a suspiciously sweet-looking manner at his favourite human (who isn’t Jane.) “And greetings to you, Thrall of Darcy,” he continues, nodding to Steve and biting his lip in amusement. “I trust your bind-wife has tied you good and tight this day?”

Steve is far too polite to respond to that but Darcy isn’t: She flips Thor the bird, grinning when he laughs aloud at the gesture.

“What’s up, T?” she asks him. “Cuz I’m supposed to be heading off to Pepper’s, so if this can wait-”

“Alas, it cannot.” Thor nods to her. “For my news is important, and before my beloved ladies fell asleep, their mother bade me call and give it to you.” He looks so happy he’s fit to burst and Steve can’t help but feel suspicious. The last time Thor looked this cheerful he was explaining Asgard’s laws regarding having more than one husband to Darcy, and though Steve suspects he was joking, he’s still a little sore.

“You need not come to Pepper’s celebration tonight,” Thor continues, “For she and Tony have fled to a realm known as Las Vegas in order to pursue their nuptials. Apparently the foul miscreants at TMZ have gained news of the impending wedding, and have laid siege to the chapel in which it was to be held.” He purses his lips. “Lady Pepper was not pleased, you may depend upon it. But she assures you she will have a great feast for all of our friends when she and Tony return.”

Darcy nods sagely. “I’m sure she will. But I’d be more worried on the idiot who ratted her out: She finds out who leaked the story to the press and they’ll be cleaning them out of the Stark Tower carpets for a week.” Her gaze strays speculatively back to Steve. “Although, if that’s the case then I don’t have anywhere to go tonight…”

Steve grins, liking where this is heading. “Yeah. In fact, we might both have to stay in… ”

Their gazes collide and she starts smiling slowly. Wickedly.

Steve can feel the tips of his ears start to heat.

“But I got all prettied up in my nice new dress,” she’s saying, “getting into it took hours…”

“Well, getting you out of it might take hours too…”

At this they hear Thor clear his throat, just a shade too quietly to wake his wife or children. He appears to be quite amused at this exchange, but when Steve looks at him his expression turns mock-stern. “Enough of that, thrall,” he says gravely to Steve, nodding towards Darcy. “You may do as your mistress bids you once I am not about to see it.”

And with a muttered farewell he ends the call, hanging up and switching his view screen off. Leaving Darcy and Steve staring at one another with a free night on their hands, and their hands on all over one another.

 _It’s not a bad way to be_ , Steve thinks.

“Well, you heard him, soldier,” Darcy says then. “We have the night off.”

She picks up his belt and winds it around her hands, her expression all wide-eyed innocence.

Steve can feel himself getting hard just from the look on her face.

“Guess we do. So I suppose you just want to go to bed,” he says. “Since, you know, you’re missing out on all the excitement.”

Darcy steps right up to him, her nose to his nose, and loops the belt around his shoulders, using it to pull him towards her.

“You think going to bed with me will be boring, soldier?” she asks.

He shrugs. “You’re the one who said rest was boring, ma’am,” he points out. “Though I’d be willing to try and change your mind about that...”

And without warning he picks up his girl and carries her into their bedroom, laughing as he does so. Placing her on their new, Asgardian bed- a gift from Thor, reinforced as all their furniture is, to take a thrashing super-hero’s weight if he’s tied up. He goes to pull away and remove his clothes but she yanks him down onto the bed with her, still laughing. Pushing him onto his back, the belt looping around his hands even as she tugs off his pants. His shoes and socks rapidly following suit until he lies before her, bound in nothing but a t-shirt and a smile. Hard and sweating and ready for her, his ma'am. His girl. Steve watches through narrowed eyes as she shimmies down the bed to pull her cocktail dress off for him. Bra, pantyhose and panties following suit until she stands before him, bare in the pale moonlight. He looks at her smiling face, at her growing belly and grins, not for the first time thanking whatever led him to this place and this woman, even if it _was_ his being a perverted romantic-

And then Darcy crawls up the bed and kisses him and Steve really doesn’t care about anything after that. Not even that he's a perv.

* * *

 

When the baby comes three months later and Steve suggests they call her Esme, Darcy knows he’s made his peace with who he is. She's certain of it. 

Because she has the tiny, mewling, screaming, gorgeous utterly beloved proof. 

**THE BEGINNING**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks. I hope you've enjoyed this little AU trip with Darcy and her soldier- I know I did. And thanks go to everyone who's read, reviewed and left kudos: Thanks for all the feedback guys.


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